Truth and Consequences
by SaraBella04
Summary: Set in West Virginia, Rebecca meets the new guy in school who seems to have an incomprehensible interest in her.What is it about her that he is interested in? Read to find out. Rated M just in case.
1. Prologue

Truth and Consequences

**Truth and Consequences**

**Prologue**

**The Dream**

It was happening again. I sighed. It was really becoming a little old. I had been having the same reoccurring dream since I was nine. Same rolling field, same distant cottages. Same quaint, low stone walls. I could hear the same stream murmuring through the same woods to my right. I was tired of standing around in the field, tired of trudging all the way to the cottage and knocking on the door until my hand hurt. It was always empty. I was completely alone in this picturesque little fantasy. This time I felt like breaking tradition. Instead of visiting the empty cottage, I decided to explore the wood and try to find the stream. At least it would be more interesting than standing outside in the monotonously cheerful sunshine.

I veered from my accustomed course toward the cool shade of the wood. I could see the blackness of the interior shadows lighten to shades of gray and then into the deep greens and rich browns of the woods sheltered by a thick canopy. I was almost under the protection of the outer edge of the trees when I heard it: the low menacing growl of an animal whose territory is being threatened. I stopped cold, frightened. I didn't know what could be living in these woods. The day was shining warmly around me, inviting me to stay, and the woods in front of me seemed to vibrate with a warning to stay away. I took a hesitant step backward and heard the growl again. My heart jumped and my breath quickened.

I noticed a sudden change in the day, the sun was becoming obscured by thick, dense clouds rolling in and the wind had picked up to blow around me in cold gusts. My hair began swirling around me and the chill numbed the tips of my fingers. I heard the growl again, this time closer. I took another step backward. _Get inside_, my instincts told me, but it was too late. The sun was gone and the false night of the storm had unleashed a nightmare. It stalked me from the darkness of the trees, coming closer even as I stood there, unable to run.

It was the eyes, evil, glowing red eyes, that finally spurred me to action. I turned and ran flat out for the nearest shelter: the perpetually empty cottage. I knew that I would never make it, that the predator behind me could easily overtake me. I ran, gasping for breath, desperate for just a few more seconds to get to safety. I felt the hot breath on the back of my neck – and I awoke, drenched in a cold sweat, safely in my own bed.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**Endings and Beginnings**

Elkins, West Virginia, my hometown, holds the dubious distinction of having the fewest sunny days of any city in the Continental United States, narrowly hedging out Astoria, Oregon. I grew up in Elkins's cloudy, foggy, misty, soup of a climate and it is reflected in my rather pale complexion. Fortunately for me, everyone else is subjected to the same lack of UV and, barring purchase of a personal tanning bed, the same pale skin. It's not particularly stormy in Elkins, thank God, but not particularly bright either. Actually, it's not particularly anything, really. Just sort of a natural state of impermeable mediocrity that was so pervasive as to prohibit the introduction of anything exceptional into its midst.

I had lived in the same house with my mom and older sister, Jenna, since I was born. My dad died when I was really little, and I don't have too many memories of him. Mom said that he was a fire fighter and was killed when a paper mill fire that he was fighting, suddenly and without warning exploded into a massive fireball. There were three other members of the regular fire department and two volunteer firemen killed that day. I'm not sure if I am more sad that I can't remember my dad, or relieved that I don't remember his death. It's a bit of a quandary, really, and either way was kind of depressing, so I didn't spend too much time dwelling on it.

My best friend growing up was Reed Pendleton. He (yes, my bff was a b-o-y) lived two doors down and we met on the first day of Kindergarten. We bonded instantly and irrevocably and became inseparable from that day forward. We were forcibly separated for two weeks every summer when Reed's family went on vacation, but only for five years. After that, Reed had made his family so miserable that they either invited me along, or left him at home with a relative. Summers were heaven: no snobby cliques to avoid, no alphabetically obsessed teachers who insisted that Michelle Roark and Reagan Smith sit between us. Just Reed and I finding a quiet nook to ponder the deeper questions of life. We were both a little different, which was fine by us. It was other people who seemed to be bothered by our lack of social obligation and civic pride. We both agreed that we would apply only to out of state colleges and accept only one that welcomed us both. We would always stick together.

Don't kid yourself that life is ever that simple. It's just tempting fate. Reed's dad got transferred to Michigan in August. The couple who bought the Pendleton house were sixty if they were a day and they thought teenagers were to be "seen and not heard." I'm not kidding, the old bat actually said that to me one day.

I spent the last two weeks of summer vacation hiding in my room and dreading the coming school year. I was starting tenth grade at Elkins High on September 1st and nothing in my life so far had prepared me for this experience. I felt like the new kid in town that everyone stares at, and who has to be told where the bathroom is, how to open a locker, and which teachers not to tick off. I had expected all that, I just hadn't expected to be doing it all alone. Reed and I had been intensely close. My mom called us "kindred spirits." I thought of him as the other part of me. The long and the short of it is that neither of us had ever really felt the need to develop other friendships.

Finally, the summer drew to a close and the first day of school loomed. Jenna was thrilled. As Jenna was on the cheerleading squad and incredibly popular, she had no reason not to be. I, on the other hand, was doomed.

I stood in front of my closet wearing a large bath towel and staring blankly. I wasn't entirely awake yet. I also wasn't thrilled that the summer was inevitably over. Today was my first day at Elkins High School and it was the first time that I would be starting school without my best friend. Reed and I had spent every first day of school together since Kindergarten. We always walked to school together, more often than not had the same classes, traded lunch (more out of tradition really than necessity), and we always, ALWAYS, walked home together to commiserate over our lamentable days. Neither one of us was particularly popular. We almost always had some incident or another with Elkins' very own Royal Princess, Lisa McAllister, and her groupies. Instead of being depressed about it, we would work to find a way to make the whole situation seem funny. We had an unwritten rule that nobody went home until we could both get a good laugh when we thought about the day. It was the only way either of us was willing to go back to school the next day. Sometimes we performed this ritual debriefing for a couple of weeks before we were happy just to hang out as friends, like normal. But now Reed's Dad had been transferred by his job and Reed was starting tenth grade at some lame high school in Michigan, and I was stuck here, in Elkins, by myself.

I groaned and pulled out my favorite blue blouse and a pair of comfortable jeans. The jeans were to limit my self-consciousness on the first day at a new school, and to make sure to _not_ look as if I had dressed up. (Only dorks and little kids do that.) The blouse was a confidence booster. I always felt a little better when I wore my favorite blouse. The blue was a deep, rich tone that complemented my coloring instead of making me look washed out like a lot of other colors. It was soft, feminine, but not frilly or flashy. It was very me. (The blouse was also a gift from Reed for my sixteenth birthday last June, but I'm sure that was only a coincidence.)

I went into the bathroom to manage my hair, not an easy proposition. I brushed the long auburn mass back from my face. I considered pulling it all into a pony tale, but decided that would be _too_ little effort. I still wanted to look presentable, after all. Finally, I brushed back the front into a clip and let the rest fall in gently curling waves to the middle of my back. I glanced at my older sister's extensive collection of cosmetics laid out in some manner of organization on the counter. I was never one to mess with the stuff, but it seemed to be a matter of life or death for Jenna.

Jenna was a Senior this year. She was cool, pretty, popular, and a cheerleader- pretty much everything that I wasn't. Jenna preferred to think that I was adopted. ("The poor little orphan that I'm selflessly guiding through the social minefield of public high school." _Sigh._) I think it made it easier for her to feel charitable toward me if she didn't have to admit she was actually related to me. I was as different from the near-perfect Jenna as asparagus is from chocolate. I was plain, not ugly, just average. I was more interested in reading than in going to parties. I didn't date. Not out of a lack of desire, but out of a lack of opportunity. Jenna insisted that if I could stop talking about "boring" stuff (her words, not mine) like ecology, politics, books, and so forth (my word, not hers) then boys would be interested in me. HA! Not likely. The boys in Elkins all seemed to be interested in the same type of girl: blonde, curvy, and vapid. Jenna wasn't stupid, but she also wasn't above pretending to be stupid in order to make some boy feel smart. It amounted to the same thing in my opinion, but to each her own.

I ate my cereal in silence while my mom buzzed around the house trying to get everything for work and Jenna chatted on her cell phone with her friends. My mom asked if I wanted a ride to school, but I wasn't ready to give up on having as normal of a day as possible. My mom gave Jenna a significant glare but Jenna just snorted and rolled her eyes. She wasn't about to volunteer to let me ride to school with her and her cheerleader friends and my mom wasn't about to start a fight with Jenna by ordering her to take me. It was a draw. I would be walking. That was fine with me. I didn't want to have to make cheerful conversation with Mom or pretend to be grateful to Jenna. I'd rather just walk the half-mile to school and keep my thoughts to myself.

I walked to school through the typical early morning fog that seemed to be an almost permanent feature in Elkins. Cars zipped by full of laughing students (Jenna among them). I ground my teeth in irritation. If my life were a movie, this is the point where I would suddenly discover some here-to-fore hidden powers and cars would begin stalling in the middle of the road, causing countless numbers of socialites to _walk_ to school for the first time in their cosseted lives. I grinned as my dark musings carried me the rest of the way to school. By the time I arrived at school, Elkins was in the grips of a chicken pox epidemic, scarring the young beauties that were unable to ignore the compulsion to scratch at every opportunity. _Hee hee hee!_

I stopped across the street from the school and took a steadying breath. I checked for cars and had started across the street when a sudden deafening roar from my right stopped me cold. A black monster suddenly loomed out of the fog, coming from nowhere and moving way too fast to escape. My short life flashed before my eyes; it didn't take long. I was a deer caught in the headlights, unable to run or dive for the safety of the sidewalk. It barreled toward me like a nightmare and screeched to a halt with the front bumper approximately four inches from my knees. I could see the BMW emblem on the hood of the shiny black sport sedan, but the driver was obscured inside the dark interior. The windows were all blocked by tint so dark it looked almost like a limo. I started to feel dizzy and suddenly realized that I had stopped breathing. I bent over to lower my head so the blood would start returning to my brain and sucked in a shaky breath. I bolted upright at the sound of the horn blaring too close to my head. The _jerk_ had the nerve to _honk_ at me, after nearly running me down, in a crosswalk, in front of a _school_ because he was exceeding the speed limit by a good fifty miles per hour, and he had the _nerve_ to _honk _at me? Anger washed over me leaving a red stain riding high on my cheeks. I squared my shoulders and moved out of the way as slowly as I could, glaring at the windshield the whole time. Just before I completely cleared the front of the car, I turned on my heel and kicked the fender with everything I had. It was an incredibly stupid thing to do, at which conclusion I did not arrive until it was too late. The driver was obviously unhinged to be driving that fast in the first place, he was probably a psychopath with a gun and-

But as soon as I was clear, the engine revved again and the car disappeared into the fog in less than a minute. Even the roar of the engine disappeared, leaving no trace of the strange and terrifying incident. I stood staring blankly into the fog for several minutes before turning and walking into the school, still shaking slightly. This did not bode well for the rest of the day.

I had my schedule, my locker combination, and the quickest routes to my classes pretty well memorized already, but even advanced preparation could not prevent the trauma of the first day of school. It was destined to be bad. There are just too many factors to account for them all. My locker refused to open, though I checked and rechecked the combination. I was late to the flag salute in the gym and had to stand by the band holding my ears when they played the Alma Mater in celebration of "an optimistic beginning to another bright year." _Ick!_

My classes didn't seem too daunting (except for Geometry, which by virtue of being _Math_ was destined to cause me endless weeks of torture). But, by the time I managed to convince my locker to let me in, I was late to first period and already starting off on a bad note with Mr. Lawson, my Chemistry teacher. All and all, he didn't seem a bad sort, just really excited about science. No more than a chef is about food or a librarian is about books, I suppose. Just in that very focused way that people are about their chosen areas of interest. The walls of his classroom were covered in posters for all things science. There were sub-atomic particle diagrams next to biology posters of internal organs (creepy!) I sat at a lab table next to a girl named Janie Connors. She had grown up in Elkins, too, but we had gone to different elementary schools. By junior high school, Janie was firmly established in the median of society and I was on the outskirts, secure only in my tight friendship with Reed. Janie was friendly enough, but she couldn't just replace Reed. I really missed my best friend, but high school, like war, makes for some strange bed fellows.

"My name's Becca Taft," I offered in response to her perky introduction. "Well, actually Rebecca, but people just call me Becca."

She smiled cheerfully and positively asserted that she was sure we'd be great friends. I didn't mention that I already had a best friend, that would've been rude, but I wasn't really as optimistic as she was. We might end up good friends, but great? I wasn't hopeful on that score. We quietly compared schedules and found that we had Geometry together for last period. _Well,_ I thought, _at least there would be one friendly face in two of my classes._ There were definite drawbacks to having the best best friend in the world. It didn't exactly create the imperative to make other friends. Now I felt like I was starting from scratch in the town where I grew up. It was almost as if I was the new kid in town, but without the advantage of being mysterious and interesting.

Mr. Lawson outlined his course objectives and explained how each one was correlated to state educational standards. (Yawn!) But the mood perked up a bit when he started explaining the projects we would do during the year: turn pennies to gold, make rubber balls from scratch, and chemically tie-dye tee shirts. Reed would have liked that class. He would have really identified with Mr. Lawson.

Second period was Art with Mrs. Compton. She was the epitome of the bohemian, artsy type. She was dressed like a hippie, but in a cool, trendy, retro way, and was incredibly laid-back and easy-going. The tables we sat at were splattered with paint from years of overzealous students. The walls and floor were similarly marked and I even caught sight of a few splatters on the high, airy ceilings. One wall was covered with various cabinets and drawers, which Mrs. Compton explained were full of supplies for different projects. She seemed to expect a lot from us in the way of talent ("Why else would you choose to pursue this endeavor?"). I was a little nervous. I had always enjoyed Art class, but I couldn't claim anything in the way of exceptionality.

Third period was History with Coach Cormer, and I knew I wouldn't dare to be late to his class, ever. He wore sweats with an Elkins High baseball cap, sneakers and a whistle, which he blew loudly at any student who was late or who interrupted him reading his newspaper by talking. It was the only class in which we didn't spend the first class talking about the syllabus and expectations. He ordered one of the students to pass out books, told us to start chapter 1, and then promptly disappeared behind his paper for an hour. I stared at the first page for 45 minutes, not really taking anything in.

Mr. Carter's Drama class, fourth period, was a godsend. He was young, late twenties, handsome, and thrilled to have us in class. Seriously. He was one of those teachers who was still new enough to teaching to be idealistic. It was a nice change. He started class by performing a monologue from Shakespeare's _Othello_. It was from the scene in which the title character tells the father of Desdemona how they came to love each other. It was one of the most romantic things I had ever seen. Most of the girls in class were already half in love with him.

It was then that I first experienced that peculiar sensation that I was being watched. Prickles of sensation tingled up the back of my neck, causing fine hairs to stand on end. I turned as casually as I could to scan the room. That is when I first saw_ him_. He was sitting two rows back and two over. He was beautiful, like the Calvin Klein underwear models, only prettier. He was leanly built - muscular, but not bulky- and dressed casually in dark slacks and a navy, buttoned down shirt that shimmered slightly like silk. He was lounging comfortably in his desk with his arm draped artistically over the corner of the backrest and his long legs stretched out into the isle and crossed at the ankle. His skin was pale and drawn tautly over the firm jaw and high cheekbones. His full lips were curved slightly in a smile that suggested he knew more about us mere mortals surrounding him than we knew about ourselves. He had dark hair that fell carelessly into disarrayed perfection, as if someone had just finished running her fingers through it. And then my eyes finally made it to his. I gasped in shock. His eyes were startlingly blue. Not the flat blue of a cloudless sky, but the deep, endless blue of the ocean. They were the kind of eyes that would change according to his mood. Right now, they were mildly amused, and looking straight at me.

I turned away quickly and shifted so that my hair blocked whatever view he might have had of me from his corner perspective. I could feel my lowered face flame in embarrassment at being caught ogling. He was new, of that much I was sure. I had never before seen anyone like this stranger in the sleepy, boring little town of Elkins. This was not someone who could be forgotten. _Who was he? Where did he come from? Did they have more of _him_ there? Maybe I could convince Mom to move there._

The jarring, discordant, clanging of the bell, disrupted my thoughts. I grabbed my things and fled as gracefully as I could. I could almost swear that I heard a muffled chuckle behind me, but I refused to check.

I entered the lunchroom and scanned. There was Janie waving at me from a table on the far side. I waved back and went to get my lunch. Janie was already bubbling at me when I sat down. She was gushing about everyone she had encountered all morning. I wasn't paying strict attention, but I managed to make enough appropriately bland responses to keep her happy, until she mentioned something about a new student.

"I'm sorry, say that again?" I asked. She rolled her eyes as if realizing she had chosen to be "great friends" with a bit of a flake.

"I _said_, his name is Ian and he just enrolled this morning, completely out of the blue, and no one really knows much about him except that he's only the most gorgeous creature ever seen in these parts." She gushed the gossip in one excited run-on sentence as if afraid taking a breath would cause her to miss important information. "I overheard him talking to the secretary in the office and he has some kind of accent, but I don't know what it was. I've never heard it before, but it was _divine_!"

"I think he's in my Drama Class," I whispered, as if the Devil himself were leaning over my shoulder to listen in. "Really good-looking, pretty even? With intense blue eyes and perfect hair?" I asked. Janie nodded excitedly and leaned across the table as if to absorb my words through her pores, rather than merely listening to them.

"That's him!" she affirmed. We both scanned the room for the object of our fascination, but there was no sign of Ian in the crowded lunchroom. Elkins High was a closed campus; students were not generally permitted to leave campus during the day without special permission. He should have been there, somewhere, but our quick search was in vain. "Wow! I don't have any classes with him yet, but I've seen him in the hall and _holy crap_ he's hot." I smiled at her all too accurate analysis. "I bet he ends up with Lisa McAllister or one of her groupies," she added bitterly. I frowned. I hadn't thought of that possibility. It really shouldn't have surprised me or bothered me, but it did, and I couldn't shake that grumpy feeling for the rest of lunch.

I walked into fifth period English without really seeing. I was deep in self-reflection, trying to puzzle out why it disturbed me to think of the new boy ending up with the catty, self-centered but beautiful Lisa, or one of her band of cardboard cut-out followers. Surely, Janie was right. Didn't the pretty people always end up together? That was the way of the world, after all. So, why should it bother me now? Just because he was looking at me in Drama class didn't mean he belonged to me. That was ridiculous, insane. Of course he would end up with the social queen of Elkins. I refused to notice that I never questioned the certainty that _she _would want _him_. I had seen him with my own eyes. She'd want him all right, that was a forgone conclusion.

I took a seat toward the back of the room, next to the window. Ms. Hoskins started class by reading a Shakespearean sonnet, very á la Mr. Carter. Those two would be perfect for each other. Ms. Hoskins was in her early thirties, petite, with short cropped dark blonde hair. She wore small round-rimmed glasses that gave her otherwise elfin features an air of intellectualism. She read the poem with a passion that spoke of a great love at some point in her life, which made me wonder why she was a Ms. instead of a Mrs.

Once again, I experienced that feeling of being watched and I was compelled to verify the truth of my instinct or admit to paranoia. I shifted in my chair and carefully scanned the room under the pretense of checking for something in my bag, which hung on the back of my chair. I was startled again to find Ian in the back row, and again he was watching me. I turned back before he could see me blush and pretended that I hadn't seen him.

I don't think I heard another word that Ms. Hoskins said for the rest of class. All I could think about was the new enigma that was Ian. I could feel the jump in my pulse each time I remembered the smile on his lips when he was watching me. I found that I was very jittery and when Ms. Hoskins called my name I actually left my seat by a good couple of inches and squeaked, "Yes?" to the great amusement of the class.

She sighed and called on Ian to answer the question she had just asked me, but which I had not heard. I turned slightly to watch him answer. He answered her question perfectly, but his eyes never left me. I wasn't sure whether to be flattered or freaked out. I blushed and turned back. Luckily the rest of the class, including Ms. Hoskins, seemed to think that my red face was due to being caught daydreaming, having completely disregarded the possibility that the immeasurably cool new kid could ever be looking at the eminently ordinary Becca Taft. Ms. Hoskins seemed to think this embarrassment was punishment enough and did not feel the need to further castigate me, merely giving me a darkly warning look before pointedly thanking Ian and continuing with class. When the bell rang, I bolted from class, completely forgetting to attempt a graceful exit.

My last class of the day was the dreaded Geometry with Mr. Hodge. Mr. Hodge was exactly how I pictured Math teachers in general, short sleeve oxford shirt with a pocket full of pens, a clashing tie, bland slacks and industrial-looking shoes that squeaked on the tile. He was in his mid-forties and balding with a comb-over, obviously in denial of the fact. He probably would have looked better if he would just give up and cut his hair, but who was I to judge? I was completely ignoring a perfectly gorgeous boy who had smiled at me and didn't seem to be offended that I was too neurotic to smile back.

Mr. Hodge looked at the class over the rims of the thick glasses riding low on his nose as if he were examining a new species of algae under a microscope. Janie sat at the desk next to me and we chatted quietly. Mr. Hodge, having finished the requisite roll call, had moved to the board and proceeded to drone on for the next fifty minutes without looking up again. This was a perfect class for whispered conversations and Janie made the most of it.

After school, I quickly dropped my things in my locker and said goodbye to Janie. She walked home, too, but she only lived down the block, so I was going it alone for the trip home as well. As I crossed the parking lot to the sidewalk, someone fell into step beside me. It was Ian.

"May I offer you a ride home?" The question seemed so formal in his lilting accent. It was soft, like someone who had lived in America for decades, with only the faint traces of the homeland left in the speech. But that was impossible. If Ian was sixteen, like me, then he either had to have lived here before he was old enough to develop an accent, or recently enough for the accent to still be firmly rooted. But Ian's accent was more of a light feathering of certain words, almost unnoticeable, but not. I looked up at him. He was wearing dark sunglasses and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, leaving his face in shadow. His hands were in his pockets and his posture was relaxed.

"Um…" I stammered. "Th-thank you, very much, but I…uh…I can't. No offense, but my Mom would totally freak. I mean, you're kind of a stranger, and all." I smiled, hoping that he wouldn't be offended. He smiled back easily, his hands clasped lightly behind his back.

"My name is Ian McClaren."

"I'm Becca Taft."

"It's lovely to meet you Becca." I sucked in a breath at the way he said my name. It was like he had physically touched me. "May I offer you a ride home?"

I laughed. "Thank you. I appreciate the offer, really, but you're still a stranger, and my mom would still freak.

"May I walk you, then?" He smiled slightly, seemingly unbothered by my refusal. I was in shock. I stared at him, open-mouthed.

"What?" he asked pleasantly.

"You have a car," I said baldly.

"Yes?"

"You have a _car_," I repeated, as if he had not understood the words the first time.

"Yes?" he repeated patiently.

"Why would you want to walk when you have a car?" I asked, dumbfounded. He chuckled.

"It's a pleasant day," he explained, "I've got no where else to be, and," he added the final argument, "you won't accept a ride."

"What? You're really going to walk all the way to my house, then turn around and walk back to your car, because it's a pleasant day?"

"And because you won't accept a ride."

"Are you mentally unbalanced?" For a moment, I had forgotten that we had just met. I felt like I was arguing with an old friend, it had loosened my tongue considerably. "I'm sorry-" I began but his laugh cut me off.

"Don't apologize. I like your honesty. No," he answered finally, "I'm not insane. Why would you consider me insane for wanting to spend an afternoon with a pretty girl?" I blushed. _He called me pretty!_

Without realizing it, we had meandered for two blocks. I slowed my pace slightly. If he was determined to walk me home, then I was determined to make the most of it.

"Where are you from?" I asked, then realized it was probably a rude, nosy question.

"Ireland," he said simply.

"How long have you lived here?"

"About a week." He smiled and I frowned.

"In America?"

"In Elkins." I suddenly realized he was teasing me and I fell silent.

"What about you?" he asked.

"What about me?"

"Tell me about you," he pressed. "Have you always lived here?"

"In Elkins?" I asked.

"In America," he teased and I couldn't suppress my smile at his easy humor.

"Yeah, pretty much," I answered.

We fell into an easy conversation and I found myself slowing my steps even more, delaying the moment when we would arrive at my house and I would loose this miraculous connection. We ranged through the most interesting and strange topics, from the normal (favorite music, book, movies) to the bizarre (most creative use for mashed potatoes).

"What did your boyfriend get you for your last birthday?" he asked lightly. I stopped cold. I couldn't think of what to say.

"What is it?" he asked, concerned. "I don't mean to pry."

"I don't have a boyfriend."

"I'm sorry, recent breakup?" He was definitely probing. I decided to come clean; there was no point in pretending to be more than I was. He would find out soon enough how invisible I really was.

"No, I've never had a boyfriend. Well, unless you count Travis Cooksey in the fourth grade." His look was skeptical.

"Look, Ian," I felt duty bound to fully warn him. "If you want to hang out with the pretty, popular girl that the guys are all panting after, then you should go talk to Lisa McAllister."

"I'd rather talk to you," he said softly, surprising me again.

"Why?"

"Not sure yet."

"Will you tell me when you are sure?"

"Yes," he promised. "So, what did your best friend get you for your last birthday?"

I smiled. "He got me this blouse, actually."

"_He?_"

"Mmm hmm." I smiled again. Finally, I had left _him_ speechless for a change. "Reed moved to Michigan this summer. His dad was transferred by his job."

"So, _he_ is no longer here?" he clarified. The slight stress on the word "he" seemed to betray more than idle curiosity, but I was sure I imagined that.

"No," I answered, and he relaxed.

We continued to talk all the way to my house, taking at least twice as long to get there than it would have normally taken me to walk by myself. I managed to extort only a few details about his life in between his persistent interrogation. He was from Ireland, by way of England, New York, Chicago, and Seattle. He didn't seem to think it odd to have lived so many places.

"What do your parents do?" I asked.

"They're dead." He said it simply, without emotion.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was a very long time ago."

"So, who do you live with?"

For a moment I thought he wasn't going to answer. "I'm…I guess you'd call it…emancipated."

"Wow." Okay, not exactly a snappy retort, but what do you say to a sixteen year old who's parents are dead and who lives by himself?

I told him about my dad and about my mom and sister. I filled him on all of the latest town gossip. He seemed genuinely interested in the goings on of the town. He listened, asked questions, and laughed at my stories in all the right places. I discovered that Ian was really easy to talk to. More than that, I discovered that I really liked talking to him. He made me feel smart, funny, and important. He listened to me with the same respectful intensity with which he addressed the teachers at school. It was definitely nice for a change. By the time we reached my front porch, Ian was as knowledgeable as a native.

"Thank you for walking me home," I smiled.

"It was my pleasure." He sounded completely sincere.

"See you tomorrow?"

"I look forward to it." I went inside and watched through the window as he walked back the way we had come. His hands were in his pockets and…he seemed to be whistling.

That night, over dinner, Mom was really trying. It was sweet of her, really. She kept asking me questions about my day.

"So, how was your first day of high school?" she asked cheerfully.

"Um," I hesitated, not sure how exactly to get out of the heart-to-heart without hurting Mom's feelings. "It was…interesting." I finally settled for the less than satisfying adjective. "I, um, made a friend…sort of." I knew that would relieve my mom and bring a quicker end to the torment.  
"Oh!" she exclaimed happily. "Well, that's great! Who is it? Someone new or…" she trailed off. I knew she didn't really care whom I had made friends with, just that I seemed to be making the effort. Mom had never completely approved of my closeness to Reed.

"Janie Connors," I said, and Mom practically bubbled over in happiness. Mom knew Janie's parents and definitely approved. I didn't mention Ian at all. Mom, like most people in town, was a little suspicious of anyone whose family hadn't lived in Elkins for at least three generations.

Dinner passed in a blur. Jenna was far more willing to monopolize the conversation to rehash her day than I had been. Jenna never questioned the idea that everyone was genuinely, and obsessively interested in the intimate details of her life. She would probably have written her memoirs by then, if she could get someone else to write it for her.

After doing the dishes, I excused myself to go to my room. It was a relief to finally be alone. I picked up my favorite (for the moment) book and stretched out on the bed to read until I was tired enough to sleep. It wasn't easy. I found it extremely difficult to focus on _Little Women_ when my brain stubbornly returned again and again to startlingly blue eyes and a knowing smile.

I gave it up as a lost cause at eight and went across the hall to the bathroom to get ready for bed. I took a hot shower, hoping the steam would relax me, and brushed my teeth. Finally, having killed as much time as I could manage, I went back to my room. I spent a few minutes tidying my room and putting my school things in my backpack for the next day. I chose clothes and laid them out on my chair. Feeling wound up and out of sorts, I turned on my stereo to something soft and meditative and lay down on the bed. I closed my eyes and tried to visualize the music flowing out of the speakers like a Technicolor fountain.

I don't know when I finally slipped across the border between conscious thought and the mental wanderings of dreamland. It took me several minutes to realize that the dream had begun again. I was alone, standing in the middle of a gently rolling field. The sun was shining softly on my skin and the air had a gentleness to it that usually only appeared in the calm after a rain. There were charming cottages in the distance separated from the fields by low, stone walls. I could hear the, by now, familiar gurgle of the stream that meandered through the adjacent woods. I didn't dare go into the woods. There was something in there, a dark presence that lingered in the shadows. No, I knew to stay out in the sunshine. I always stayed in the sunshine. The one time that I had ever ventured near the woods, I was stopped cold by the low, feral growl emanating from the densest pools of impenetrable shadow.

I wandered through the field, toward the nearest cottage. I knew I would find it empty, but I was compelled to repeat the fruitless exorcise. I was almost to the front door when I finally noticed that there was a friendly curl of smoke coming from the chimney. _That_ was new.

I knocked hesitantly, there had never been this variation before and I was unsure how to handle the unexpected twist. The door opened slightly at my touch and I poked my head in cautiously. I had to keep reminding myself that it was a dream and that I was in no real danger, that this was all just a figment of my imagination. I tried to convince myself that I actually welcomed the change – at least it was interesting.

"Hello?" I asked, unsure of whether it was a violation of dream etiquette to enter a dream house without the permission of the imaginary owner.

"Yes, dear, come in, come in." The voice was coming from the next room, where I could see the flickers of a toasty fire. I rounded the doorway to find myself in a cozy room, small but cheerful. The fire burning merrily in the hearth lent a warm glow to the whole room and its sole occupant: an elderly woman knitting in a squashy chair in the corner.

"Um…hi," I stammered. "I knocked, but…"

"Welcome, Becca." It really shouldn't have surprised me that someone in my dream would know my name (she was inside my head after all) but it still sent a shiver down my spine. "I've been expecting you. Sit down, please? I'm not as young as I used to be, you know," she laughed. "And it pains my neck to look up at you. Would you like some tea?"

She seemed harmless enough, and this didn't feel like the kind of dream where the little old lady suddenly morphs into a giant mosquito, so I sat and tried to remember the manners my Mom used to make us use when we visited Grandma.

"Thank you, ma'am. If you don't mind…ma'am…uh…where am I?" Even knowing it was just inside my head didn't make it sound any less crazy.

"Why, sweetie, you're at home, in your bed." Duh! Of course, I already knew that, but I still felt stupid. The self-deprecating smile eased the slight and she continued in a gentle voice meant to make me more comfortable. "I'm sorry, dear, I was being rude." The lilt in her voice confused me. She didn't sound American, but I wasn't sure what her accent could be. "This is Ireland, dear." I was a little shocked (I had never before even thought much about Ireland) but at the same time I knew it felt right.

"Why am I here, exactly?" I wasn't sure if that was a rude thing or not. Shouldn't I - as the writer, director, and star - know better than a mere extra why my dream was set in this alien environment? I started trying to remember anything I had ever read about dream symbolism.

"Don't strain yourself, honey," she chuckled. "You are dreaming, but you are not the architect of this little production."

"Excuse me?" I asked, confused again. "This is getting weird, I think I'm just going to go…now…Okay, uh…bye." I stood and turned to leave, but I couldn't find the door. I wasn't facing the wrong direction; the door had just ceased to be.

"What's going on here?" I demanded. "This is my dream, I can leave if I want to." I insisted on this truth, even when it accomplished nothing. "Let me out! Where's the door? Let me out, I mean it. I don't want to hurt you, but I'm not above breaking things to get out of here." I wasn't sure if I was even capable of following through with my threat. If this was just a figment of my imagination, would anything I did affect it? I wasn't sure. I turned to the window, half thinking of crashing through it, only to find that the cheerful afternoon sunshine had failed again, overwhelmed by boiling black clouds. The wind whipped viciously through the trees and I saw the faint glow of evil red eyes waiting in the darkness.

"Calm down, Becca," she ordered, and her voice had hardened. She obviously was not pleased with my lack of cooperation in this little flight of fancy. "You can not leave until you have heard, so you might as well sit down and get it over with." That sounded reasonable enough and I was not so keen on going outside just now anyway, so I sat.

" 'Kay," I squeaked. "Hear what?"

"You must be ready," she began, and her voice had taken on an ethereal quality. She seemed to grow larger and more intimidating, more than just a harmless little old lady.

"Ready for what?" I asked but the irritation in her eyes when she continued effectively smothered any further interruptions.

"There are dark times ahead. You will know great love, but it may cost you more than you are willing to pay. Your choices will be limited, and you will not always know all of the answers. Trust your instincts. Trust his-"

"His who?" I interrupted again.

"Frivolous girl! Do you think this is a game?" I stared without answering. The anger and frustration in her voice was echoed in her stormy gray eyes. I didn't know what to say. "Do you think that we have realigned the universe in order to warn you because we are entertained?" She was really angry, and I started to be freaked out again.

"Sorry?" I whispered.

She sighed, "Never mind." The anger seemed to whoosh out of her like air from a deflated balloon, and she seemed suddenly very old and very tired. "Becca, this is very serious. There isn't much time left. You will have to make a decision soon and it will affect the rest of your life. You don't have long now; it took him too long to find you. There are only months left until you reach majority. If you don't decide by then…" She trailed off without explaining what I had to decide or the consequences for delay. Still, it seemed to be a dire warning, even without all the gruesome details. "You need to beware. There will be two. The first has come to find you. You cannot loose him. He is the one you are to save, and he will protect you."

"If he has to protect me, then how am I supposed to save him?" I asked, not really expecting an answer. She didn't disappoint me.

"The second will come to destroy you both. This one you _must not trust_. Listen to your heart. This one will work in deception; your fears will be turned against you. Don't believe it. Don't," she stressed again. "If you stray, there is no way back."

"How will I know who to trust?" I asked, not sure if I was losing my mind to even ask.

She smiled, "The same way you knew to stay out of the woods, dear. Follow your instincts," she repeated. "Your heart knows. Now, drink your tea."

I stared at her in confusion, but she just smiled and nodded at the teacup in my hand. I did not remember ever accepting the cup, but I sipped it obediently. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in my bed and the sun was peeking in through my curtains.

"_Becca!_" my mom shouted. "_Get up! You're going to be late!_"

I groaned and rolled out of bed. What a weird dream!


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**Missing**

The days settled into the blur of monotony that so frequently follows the rush of the first week of school. I completely forgot about the dream, intentionally of course. The bazaar twist that my reoccurring dream had taken was just a little too uncomfortable for me to retain it and not think that I had gone crazy.

At school, the teachers seemed to have attacked the curriculum with the fervor of zealots. Mr. Lawson was preaching the virtues of the Periodic Table of Elements. Mrs. Compton had us doing drawing exorcises. I kept starting out to draw the abstract type image she wanted, but it always ended up looking like laughing blue eyes. Coach Cormer had zipped us through the first several chapters and the attendant questions. We had even taken our first test. I aced the test, but mostly because I correctly guessed that his tests would be completely comprised of the review questions from the book. It wasn't exactly hard to prepare.

In Drama class, Mr. Carter was starting to talk about putting together a cast to go to State One Act Contest. He had already chosen the play "Act Three, Scene Five," which had a "Romeo and Juliet" theme. In preparation, he decided that drama class should begin studying "Romeo and Juliet" so that we would have a better understanding of the play. We started out by reading the play in small groups. I went with the first group that invited me and read whatever part my group-mates assigned me. They became progressively irritated with me, however, when I was constantly late with my lines. I was having trouble focusing because my attention kept straying to across the room where Ian's group was reading. I found myself listening for the timber of his voice.

I noticed that he didn't read Romeo's part all the time and I was surprised. Partly because his group didn't demand he play the starring role every time, and partly because he read all of the roles equally well. He embodied the passion of Romeo, the fire of Mercutio, the distain of the Montague and Capulet fathers. He seemed to have a perfect understanding of the emotions behind every line. Mr. Carter was thrilled. He had already mentally cast Ian in the lead roll of every play he had ever even thought of producing. I couldn't blame him. Ian definitely had star power.

After several days of reading various parts over and over, Mr. Carter told us to decide which parts we wanted to read for and to begin practicing. He even gave us a homework assignment to research the way of life for the character so that we would understand that person better. I researched Juliet (like all of the other girls, I'm sure) but I didn't really have a hope of being cast. It was universally accepted that Lisa would get the role of Juliet and Ian would read Romeo.

Finally, we auditioned for parts on a Friday. As predicted, every girl was reading for Juliet. The boys in class were more evenly distributed. Only a few boys cared about being the lead enough to chance the razzing they would get for reading Romeo. When Mr. Carter asked Ian if he was reading for Romeo, Ian shrugged casually and said, "If you like." Just like that, as if he was willing to read the lowliest bit part, if that was what Mr. Carter wanted, but he knew that that wasn't the case. I was briefly affronted by his smug self-assurance, but then he began to read and I was instantly contrite for my doubt.

"But soft," he began. He didn't look at the script on the desk, but instead gazed unseeingly at the window. He seemed to be actually seeing some vision of a moonlit balcony occupied by his lady love. His unearthly beautiful face was no longer that of Ian McClaren, high school sophomore, but that of Romeo, lover and warrior. The class was instantly enthralled by the play of genuine emotion across his expressive visage. "What light through yonder window breaks? It is the East, and Juliet is the sun! Arise, fair sun and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief, that thou, her maid, are far more fair than she!"

The room exhaled in a collective sigh when he finished. Megan Sloan, who was currently reading the part of Juliet was so consumed by his performance that she completely forgot to say her lines and had to be physically prodded before she managed to shake the dreamy, glazed look from her face.

When it was my turn to read, I was so nervous that I nearly swallowed my own tongue. I was intimately aware of Ian watching me, but I refused to make eye contact. I was sure that if I looked at him, I would loose all ability to speak, let alone do so coherently. I was dreadfully quiet and Mr. Carter had to ask me to speak up twice. I cleared my throat, apologized, and finally looked up. My eyes met Ian's and I was instantly trapped. I was no longer reading Juliet. I became her. The crowded classroom dissolved away and I was proclaiming my love for my Romeo. Michael Brighton was supposed to be reading Romeo, but Ian was mouthing Romeo's lines for me and his voice rang so clearly in my head that Michael was completely drowned out. I felt the blush steel up my cheeks as I realized that Romeo had heard my devoted musings and my eyes stung with surprised tears when we said our goodbyes.

When I finally took notice of my surroundings again, I was embarrassed to find the entire class staring at me in disbelief. A few people snickered.

"Thank you, Becca!" Mr. Carter called over the mumbled comments, but I'm sure I heard Lisa snort, "_Drama Queen._"

The bell rang, freeing me from being subjected to any further mockery. As I was passing Ian's desk, he reached out and caught my hand. I stopped and waited for him to say something, but he remained silent. I looked at him and he nodded at me in approval, smiled, and released my hand. I returned his smile with a wavering one of my own and turned to leave the class.

Mr. Carter had promised to have the roles cast by Monday and, true to his word, there were lists posted on the door when we arrived for class. I waited until everyone had found the information they wanted (or didn't want) to see and had moved into class before I approached the lists for myself. I flipped to the list for 4th Period and ran my finger down the cast list. Sure enough, Lisa McAllister was going to be reading Juliet to Ian's Romeo. _That figures!_ I thought. I found my own name next to the role of Lady Capulet, Juliet's mother. _Lisa would eat that up,_ I thought. There was a note at the bottom of the list, marked by an asterisk, indicating that the "understudy" for Romeo would be the part of Benvolio and the understudy for Juliet would be Lady Capulet. _Great!_ I would get to read Juliet after all, just as soon as little miss "Perfect Attendance" called in sick. My little chicken pox fantasy was looking more and more appealing.

After one hour of group rehearsal, I had changed my mind. I wasn't sure I wanted Lisa's part, after all. At least my role allowed me to somewhat ignore the power of Ian's gaze. He put on such a stirring performance that poor Lisa was completely star-struck. She came off looking a bit dotty and flakey. The only thing really preventing me from enjoying the idiot she was making of herself over Ian was the fact that I was now forced to wonder if the passion in his performance was really for her. Obviously, it was _not_ directed at me, since he hadn't looked my way all period.

I sighed and nearly missed my line for all my musings. Lisa really wasn't that bad, more's the pity. I chalked it up to just one more thing I didn't like about her; she didn't even have the decency to bomb a single reading in Drama class. She could have at least struggled for _one_ day.

I moped through lunch and English class without looking at Ian once. I could swear that I could feel his gaze on my back, but now I didn't trust my own perceptions. I was an idiot to think he had been smiling at me. Of course, now I could see where his real interests lie. Foolish, foolish girl.

Geometry was torture. I hoped that the year got better before our first report cards went home, or Mom might have an aneurysm. Janie was no help on that front. Geometry was easy for her and though she tried to explain it to me, it always came down to "I don't know why it's like that, it just is." This answer did not satisfy me. I needed a _reason _to believe.

Walking out of school that afternoon, I found myself directly behind Lisa and her group of devotees. Mary Ann Shepherd was quizzing Lisa about Ian and their reading Romeo and Juliet together.

"Of course, Mr. Carter could tell right away that we were perfect together," Lisa bragged.

"So, did he seem interested?" Mary Ann pressed.

"Of course he did, why wouldn't he?" Lisa did not appreciate the implication that there was any other option.

"Oh!" gasped Mary Ann, "I bet you'll end up going to Prom together! How romantic!" she gushed.

I could hardly contain the reflex to gag.

I followed the group out of the building until they separated. Mary Ann and the others went to the left and Lisa went to the right. I continued across the parking lot to the sidewalk and couldn't miss the stir Lisa created. People all over campus stopped what they were doing to watch her progress to her car. Her beautiful blonde curls bounce in the non-existent breeze and the watery sun seemed to glint off of her perfectly painted lips and nails. She was the image of youthful health and vitality. She was the model in the shampoo commercials who always seemed to move in slow motion to perfectly highlight the gloriousness of her shiny, beautiful hair.

She slid into the red convertible Mustang and started it with a roar of the engine and an accompanying roar of the radio, already tuned to a popular station and blaring loudly. She did it on purpose. Lisa fed off of attention, and the more people paying attention when she made her exit, the happier she would be. She revved the engine as she backed out of the parking space, forcing several students to scramble out of her way. She paused to flip her hair back attractively, and to allow everyone to admire her enviously, then revved the engine again and peeled out of the parking lot in a haze of smoking tires and blowing dust. Several more students crossing the street had to dive for the safety of the sidewalk as she barreled past.

Whatever I didn't like about Lisa McAllister, I couldn't say she lacked dramatic flair. She knew how to make an entrance and she definitely knew how to make an exit. Every guy wanted to date her and every girl wanted to be her. Even I imagined what it would be like to be as pretty and popular as Lisa, only nicer. If she ever decided to be a decent human being, she would make an enormous impact on the world. Unfortunately that was pure supposition.

It's a pity really, that that was the last time anyone ever saw her alive.

The phone rang ominously at eleven p.m. that night. I could hear my mom pick up the phone downstairs with a nervous, "Hello?" It was practically unheard of in Elkins to call someone after nine p.m. It was universally unaccepted in our small town society. The only exception would be made for a death in the immediate family or some kind of disaster. There had been nothing on the news about an explosion or car wreck, and the sky was completely free of dark, rotating wall clouds. I crept from my bed and eased down the hall. I noticed Jenna sitting at the bottom of the stairs and went to sit next to her. If there was bad news, we both wanted to hear it now and get it over with. Mom's voice was shaky as she gave brief answers to the questions posed on the other end of the line.

"No, we haven't…Huh uh…No, I'm sure…Yes…I can ask her, if you like…No? O.K. we'll let you know…Yes…Call us if there's any news. You, too…Bye, now." She hung up the phone and took a deep breath.

She rounded the corner from the kitchen, preparing to mount the stairs, then started in surprise to find Jenna and I sitting there waiting for her.

"Oh!" she gasped in momentary alarm. "You girls scared me! What are you two doing up at this hour?"

"We heard the phone," Jenna stated simply. "What's wrong?"

"Now, I'm sure it's nothing to worry about," she began bracingly. "That was Lisa McAllister's Mom. Lisa didn't come home from school today. They're getting worried and calling around to see if anyone's seen her. Jenna, did you see Lisa after school?"

"No, Mom," Jenna answered, visibly worried about her friend. Even though Lisa is in my class, her popularity had ingratiated her to the upperclassmen at Elkins High in a way that my blood relation could not. Lisa and Jenna were on the cheer squad together and Jenna regarded Lisa as the little sister she had never had. (Of course, I really didn't count. I was practically a distant relation.) "Lisa left right after school and she went in the direction of her house."

"I'm sure she's fine," Mom reassured Jenna. "She's probably just hanging out with someone and forgot to call."

"Mom?" I asked hesitantly, not wanting to alarm Jenna further. "Who would she be hanging out with if all of her friends are at home to be called?" Mom gave me a warning glare.

"I'm sure she's fine," she said, tight lipped and glancing meaningfully at Jenna's unusually pale face.

"What if she had car trouble, or something, and she's stuck on some back road somewhere with no cell signal?" I whispered, turning my face away from Jenna in an attempt to muffle my question.

"Listen, sweetheart, Mr. and Mrs. McAllister have already notified the sheriff's office and they are sending out patrols to look for her. I'm sure they'll have her home by morning." Her voice shifted from comforting to falsely bright and cheery. "Now, off to bed with both of you."

"But…" Jenna protested in vain.

"Goodnight," Mom persisted.

We tromped up the stairs reluctantly and went into our separate rooms, but neither was ready to sleep now. I vaguely heard Jenna get on her cell phone and begin making calls to all of her friends. She tried one number and I heard her swear quietly when no one answered. I guessed she was probably trying to call Lisa.

I lay on my bed for a long time thinking about where Lisa could possibly be. Finally I dropped into a fitful sleep, punctuated by dreams of Lisa, racing through the woods, pursued by some faceless predator. And then suddenly, it wasn't Lisa, but me fleeing the monster in the dark. I woke up shaking and crying just as I felt the grasping claws snag my shirt and I began to fall.

It was still early, still before dawn. I turned over and tried to go back to sleep, telling myself that it was just a dream. I couldn't close my eyes without seeing her terrified face, glancing over her shoulder as she ran. I shuddered and lay awake for the next several hours. Every little noise in the creaky old house seemed to be my nightmare come to life. I nearly screamed when a branch of the tree outside my window swayed in a slight breeze and scraped menacingly against my window. Finally I got up and turned on a light. I paced around the room restlessly. I tried to read, but quickly gave up. I turned on my computer and tried to do some surfing, but the connection was particularly slow and frustrating and I eventually turned it off. I even took a stab at homework, but I should have known that it was a lost cause before I even started.

At last, I heard my Mom begin to move around in her room down the hall, and I knew it must be a decent hour. I dressed and got ready for school and went down stairs for breakfast. It was a quiet affair, everyone worried and exhausted from a night of restless tossing and turning. We all ate in silence and before Mom left for work, she turned to Jenna and said, "Take Becca to school." Jenna didn't argue, merely nodded once without looking up.

The ride to school was awkward and silent. I was squished into the corner of the back seat of Mary Ann's VW Rabbit convertible. No one was talking or laughing or joking. Everything that needed to be said seemed to have already been whispered over the phone in the small hours of the night.

The halls of the school were unusually quiet. There had been no word on Lisa's mysterious disappearance and no one appeared to be missing with her. Students were freaked out. No one knew what to think. Surely her closest friends would know if she had decided to bolt? Every one whispered and watched Lisa's friends in the halls. Looking for any sign that they were in on the secret, but they would be disappointed. Lisa's close circle of friends were even more harried than the rest of the student body.

English class was tense. For once, Ian didn't look at me, but instead spent the entire hour in quiet contemplation of his desk. He, too, seemed to be worried by Lisa's disappearance and it caused an indefinable pang of emotion in my chest to think of him worried about _her_.

The cafeteria was practically as quiet as the library, whispered rumors flying around the room at warp speed. Everyone had a theory about Lisa. Everyone thought he or she knew where she was or what had happened to her. Everyone was wrong.

Three days after Lisa disappeared, a local, heading out for a day of hiking, discovered the body of a teenage girl on the side of the road. The body had been dumped, the authorities determined, because although the cause of death was exsanguination (loss of blood) there was no blood found at the scene of the gruesome discovery. There were murmurs of cult involvement because of the missing blood. Elkins was in shock. This one event had single-handedly destroyed every murder record in the tri-county area for the last fifty years. The funeral had to be a closed-casket service, due to the trauma to Lisa's body.

Elkins High School held a memorial service for Lisa. People cried. It was all very sad, and very hypocritical. There were several students who made speeches about what a wonderful person Lisa was and how much she would be missed. Teachers talked about what an upstanding member of our school community she had been and how Elkins High wouldn't be the same without her. I suppressed the urge to laugh. Lisa McAllister was a consummate snob. She ruled her little clique and tormented anyone who didn't measure up to her standards. As much as I wished that Elkins High wouldn't be the same without her, I knew this too was a lie. Elkins High was exactly the same. The A-crowd jackals would just have to find a new Alpha to lead the pack. I watched the weeping, whispering, strategizing group of girls in the front row. They were obviously jockeying for political position, now that Lisa's death had cleared the way for someone to step into the spot light. I couldn't be sure of course, but it looked like Mary Ann Sheppard and Chelsea Howard might be the front-runners. They seemed to be determined to out do each other in grief and in the extravagance of their respective eulogies. I hoped they sorted it out before they resorted to hair-pulling and name-calling.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Halloween**

Lisa's death, while disturbing and frightening, could not indefinitely suppress the town's will to thrive. As the lingering warmth of summer faded to the first multi-hued blush of autumn, daily life in Elkins began to return to almost normal. Students at Elkins High prepared for the first dance of the year, pushing aside the knowledge that only a few days ago, one of their own had been brutally murdered. The school underwent a metamorphosis as the student body prepared for the Halloween dance.

Dates were secured rapidly and those unfortunate souls, like myself, who had yet to make a blip on the dating radar, made arrangements to go with a group of friends. Janie and I had made plans to go together and my mom volunteered to drive, picking up Janie on our way.

Second only to a date, the most important discussion in the halls, lunch room, and the backs of classrooms was over what costumes everyone was going to wear. The general consensus was that girls should wear something sexy, boys should wear something tough, scary, or gross, and everyone should wear something completely unique. Of course, since there was only one costume shop in town and their prices precluded all but the most privileged students from purchasing professionally made costumes, the rest of us had to get creative.

I decided to dress as a gypsy. I found a dark red peasant blouse in the back of my closet that mom had bought me a few years before, when it looked like they were making a come-back. I borrowed a black broomstick skirt from Jenna and a couple of scarves from mom. Jena had decided not to go to the dance; she was still genuinely affected by the death of her friend and wasn't yet up to socializing seriously. She seemed to be channeling all of her energies into "Project Becca." She was actually very helpful. She tied one of Mom's scarves around my head like a headband. She pulled my hair back under the scarf and fluffed it out a little in back, then pulled a few locks down around my face and curled them so that they framed my face becomingly.

Jenna also did my make-up, and although I complained about the "gunk" I was glad she didn't listen. By the time she finished with me, I could hardly recognize my own face in the mirror. My lips were painted a dark, rich red and she had outlined my eyes in exotic looking kohl to emphasize the stormy gray. There was a natural blush riding on my cheeks and Jenna thought that was sufficient and so did not add any blusher. She kept tugging the elastic neckline of the blouse off of my shoulders, insisting it was more accurate. I kept tugging it back up, insisting that I didn't care about accurate. We finally compromised on one shoulder off, one on. She tied a second scarf around my hips and I slipped my feet into ballet flats. Jenna wanted me to go all the way and be bare foot, but mom put her foot down at that and Jenna reluctantly agreed that I should wear shoes since I was going outside.

"There's something missing," Jenna mused. She looked at me critically and made several demands for me to turn around. She circled me with her arms crossed and her lips pursed like a general inspecting the troops.

"What…" I began, but Jenna cut me off with a "shh!" and I snapped my mouth closed and waited. She continued to circle, frowning at me and making little adjustments to my blouse, my skirt, the scarves, tugging loose a lock of hair here, or smoothing one down there.

"Jenna," I began after I began to think she was never going to judge me finished. "I don't think you can find anything else. I look pretty cool, I think."

"No," she insisted. "It's not the look, it's the sound."

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"Walk," she ordered. I looked at her blankly, thinking she had lost her mind. She shoved me, not so gently and I walked across the room and back, my skirt and scarves making an appealing swishing noise.

"That's it!" she cried excitedly and ran out of the room. She returned in a minute with her shirt rolled up at the bottom like a basket, loaded down with every piece of shiny jewelry she had managed to pilfer from our collective jewelry boxes. She dumped her spoils on the bed and began culling through the mass, sorting out the prizes from the chaff.

"Gypsies don't swish," she explained. "They jingle, they tinkle, they shine, but they don't just swish." She began to adorn my arms with bangles and found the most audacious, gaudy dangle earrings for my lobes. I balked at first, but I should have known it would do no good.

"Jenna, I'm not going to be able to walk," I protested. "What about the rule about taking off the last thing you put on?" She snorted and rolled her eyes at me. She continued to slide noisy bracelets onto my arms and found a couple of metal link belts to drape around my hips, over the scarf slung low on my hips. Clearly, Jenna was not impressed by Emily Post. "Okay!" I finally shouted. "That's enough!" She stopped, stood back and looked at me again.

"Walk," she again commanded. I sighed and breezed across the room, this time a gentle tinkling noise accompanied each step. Jenna huffed out her breath in an exasperated sigh.

"Not like that," she complained. "Sway your hips more," she instructed. "More," she pressed. Her instructions became bossier and bossier until finally I felt more like a caricature of a person walking than a real person. Finally I called a halt to the critique with a stomp of my foot.

"Perfect!" Jenna shouted in glee and clapped her hands as if I had just walked a tight rope. "That's it Becca! Get good and mad, it's perfect." She was so happy with me, finally, that I didn't have the heart to tell her I didn't have the foggiest idea what she was talking about. I rolled my eyes and thanked her for her help.

We went down stairs to dinner. It was hard to eat with Jenna clucking over me, keeping me from messing up her masterpiece. I finally gave up and asked Mom if we could go. It was a little early yet, but Mom would enjoy a visit with Mr. and Mrs. Connors, so she said we could leave. I sighed in relief. I really felt for Jenna and what she was going through, but I didn't know how much more of her help I could stand.

Mom and I rode to Janie's house in relative quiet. Janie's parents were gracious and welcoming. Mom sat in the living room to chat with them while Janie and I scurried upstairs to her room to finish getting ready. Janie had dressed as a nurse from the 1940's and she needed help with her accessories. Mom didn't mind waiting and we were still early for the dance so there was really no hurry.

"You look hot!" Janie enthused.

"Thanks," I smiled. "Jenna helped me a lot." I gave her a brief run down of my experience with Jenna. Janie was firmly on Jenna's side with regard to my blouse. I firmly told her that in no way was I going to the dance looking like complete slut.

"Just a little bit of a slut, huh?" she teased. "I'm just kidding!" she replied to my rapidly reddening face. "Really," she insisted, "you look great. You'll probably have the best costume of anyone."

"You look really good, too, Janie. Where'd you get the nurse outfit? You look like something out of Pearl Harbor!" I was in awe of her vintage looking nurse uniform and her 1940's hairstyle.

"The dress was my great-grandmother's," she explained as she painted her lips into a ruby red bow. "She was in the WAVES in World War II and she kept a lot of her old clothes in a trunk in the attic. Mom did my hair from an old picture of Grandma, before she married Great-Granddad."

She picked up a faded old photograph and offered it to me shyly. The corners were a bit tattered and there was a crease running across the bottom, but none of these imperfections could mar the beauty of the young woman in the picture. She was about eighteen, with a fair complexion and dark brown hair styled like an old movie star: swept up on both sides and curled under in the back. Her pouty red lips were curved slightly in a secretive smile and a thick fringe of eyelashes framed her deep, warm brown eyes. The picture stopped at the bust, but she was clearly wearing a crisp, new nurse's uniform. I could see the little red crosses on the lapels. I touched the photo reverently, wondering what had become of that beautiful young woman, what she had seen in her lifetime. I looked back up from the photo and gasped to see her standing in front of me.

"Pretty good, huh?" Janie bragged, striking a pin-up pose with one hand bouncing the curve of her hair, the other hand on her waist and her hip jutting out saucily. "Grandma always said that I looked just like her, now I know what she meant." She stepped closer and gently took the photo from my fingers. She looked at it sadly for a moment and then propped it carefully against the framed photograph of an elderly woman on her dresser. I realized that this must be a later photo of her great-grandmother, the one she grew up with, the one she recognized.

"She was very pretty, Janie," I told her. "And your grandma is right, you do look just like her." Janie smiled and blushed, pleased with my artless compliment.

"Help me pin my hat on," she requested, sitting on the little bench in front of the delicate and feminine little vanity. I took the hat from her hands and centered it on the crown of her head, trying not to displace any of the bobby pins holding her hair in place. She passed me more pins and I secured the hat as best I could.

"Let's go," she breathed. "We are going to have soooo much fun!" she squealed. We tromped down the stairs and Mom stood to meet us at the door.

We waited while Janie's parents reminded her to mind her manners and not to stay out too late. Finally we were out the door and in the car. It was a short ride, as Janie really just lived down the block from the school, but it was nice to be arriving with a friend instead of walking in alone. We didn't talk much in the car and it wasn't until we were getting out in front of the gymnasium that Mom went through the "be safe, be polite, call me when you want to come home…" routine. I rolled my eyes at Mom and thanked her for the ride.

She smiled warmly and said "You're welcome." And I felt like she really meant it. It seems selfish and whiney, but I had always felt sort of invisible, growing up in the shadow of my older sister. Jenna was so bright that everyone else just seemed a bit dim when standing too close to her. This time, when Mom talked to me, I felt like she was really seeing me, not just glancing off of Jenna's aura.

Janie and I waited in line, paid our admission fees, and walked into the gym hesitantly. It was already getting crowded and the music was blaring. Crepe paper streamers were draped over every surface that had stood still long enough, and a few that were still moving around the room. I noticed that a couple of upperclassmen, probably football players, had commandeered some decorations in order to make a bigger spectacle of themselves.

"Ugh!" Janie groaned. "They're drunk already." We rolled our eyes at the idiots whooping around the gym annoying anyone they came into contact with. We skirted around the opposite side of the gym and found a table of other dateless girls. Most of the guys had formed a mosh pit in front of the d.j. table.

We spent three songs complimenting each other's homemade costumes and demeaning those of privileged rank who had purchased or rented costumes from the shop in town. It was our consensus that the best costumes were those that required ingenuity, creativity, and luck, rather than mommy or daddy's credit card. This last was determined at about the time Mary Ann breezed past in her Marie Antoinette finery, complete with powdered wig and stick-on beauty mark. When a slower song began to play, several boys arrived at our table to ask girls to dance. Janie went off to dance with Mark Hughes, visibly pleased with herself. Several other girls did the same. Finally there were only three of us left.

I excused myself and headed off to find the refreshment table. It was as I was rounding the dance floor that I felt that peculiar sensation of being watched. I shivered and looked over my shoulder. There were any number of people who could have been watching me, but none who seemed to be doing so with any degree of deliberation. I was on my way back to the table with a glass of watery punch when I felt it again. A tingling sensation shivered up my spine. I looked around, but the room was far too crowded and dark to see anyone clearly.

I resumed my seat at the table and Janie returned from her dance. She was blushing becomingly and gushed about Mark through the next song. I listened half-heartedly as I scanned the room. That's when I saw him. He was leaning against the wall at the far end of the gym. He was dressed impeccably in a formal tuxedo, with the addition of a knee length cape at his shoulders. His hair was slicked back and his face was obscured by a white mask that covered the upper part of his face, as well as half of the lower part. His full lips were curved into a knowing smile and although I couldn't see his eyes inside the mask, their gaze seemed to burn intensely across to me. I was being watched by the Phantom of the Opera. I smiled ruefully.

I heard a throat being cleared behind me and turned to find Tyler Hampton standing there and looking at me expectantly.

"Would you like to dance?" he asked shyly.

"Of course she would!" Janie enthused before I could politely decline. She shoved me out of my chair and I would have fallen gracelessly to the floor if I hadn't grasped Tyler's hand to right myself.  
He led the way to the dance floor and pulled me awkwardly into his arms. His hands were on my waist and mine were on his shoulders. We swayed back and forth to the music and shuffled our feet so that we pivoted in a slow circle. Tyler complimented me sweetly and made casual conversation. I tried to answer, but my eyes were watching over his shoulder for my Phantom. When I did see him, I could swear he was smirking at me and my face flamed. Luckily, Tyler took my embarrassment as nervousness and wasn't offended.

When the dance ended, Tyler returned me to my table, but Janie was already gone, dancing with another partner. I was grateful for her absence. I didn't feel like being grilled about Tyler. She returned at the end of the song, smiling and out of breath. We were both asked to dance for the next song and Janie wouldn't let me decline. It wasn't so bad really, just sway, nod, and try to look interested.

I danced several more times and the Phantom was watching me each time. Sometimes he was smirking, as before. Other times he seemed to be glaring at my dance partner. It was during those times that I was dancing with someone with roving hands. It only happened a couple of times and I was able to successfully redirect their attention, but I studiously avoided eye contact with those boys after the dances were over. I didn't want to give them the impression that I would welcome another invitation.

Janie and I were talking to a small circle of our classmates at the refreshment table when I heard the first strains of a new song begin. The song was by an R&B version of a classic tango number. "Come dance with me, my baby," she invited, and the beat of the tango thrummed through the gymnasium. I tuned out of the conversation momentarily as I tuned into the song. It was a beat that drew me in and invoked visions of exotic places and a dashing gentleman.

I felt the hand on my waist tugging me away from the group without so much as a "by your leave" and turned to protest. I found myself face to face with the Phantom and I was struck dumb. His eyes smoldered out at me from behind the mask. He led me onto the dance floor, one of his hands securely at my waist and the other firmly holding my own. My body was pressed close to his.

"I can't do this," I whispered.

"Yes you can." His husky whisper left no doubt that he wasn't arguing, merely stating a fact. It was then that I made the mistake of meeting his impossibly blue eyes and I lost all coherent thought. I could feel his hands leading me through the steps and my body instinctively responded. He tugged gently on my hand and I glided across the floor, mimicking his steps. He pushed against my waist and I snapped into a spin, my skirt swirling around my feet and the belts and bracelets tinkling musically. He folded me easily into his arms and I found my body curved into his like a lover. He leaned over me and I was bent backward over his arm only to be rocked back up and pressed intimately against him. It wasn't a complicated tango, by any means, but it was a tango. I could feel my feet floating around the floor. I could feel the muscles in my back and stomach contracting and stretching in unbelievable ways. I was completely unaware of the watching crowd. I couldn't even remember Janie and her companions.

When the music stopped, I realized that my eyes were closed and I opened them to discover two things in quick succession. First, everyone was staring at us. Second, they were all upside-down. The first was due, obviously, to the unbelievable performance we had just put on. I realized that the second was misleading. The crowd wasn't upside-down, but I was. My Phantom had finished the dance with a flourishing dip that left me in a shockingly sexual pose. I was draped backward over his arm with my head and arms dramatically flung back. One of my legs was straight through his and the other was wrapped intimately around his waist. My skirt had ridden up to reveal a tantalizing amount of my bared leg. His arm was braced around by back, supporting my weight, and his free hand was grasping my knee where it was pressed to his waist. His nose was barely an inch from the pulse that thumped erratically at the base of my throat. Then he looked up, meeting my eyes. His smoldering gaze held me pinned, breathless, unable to pull away, unable to move at all.

The thunderous applause of the spectators broke the spell and he gracefully righted me, with little or no help from me. I was in no hurry to relinquish our physical connection. He kept his hold only on my hand, and only long enough to leave a lingering kiss on the inside of my wrist, before he disappeared, leaving me to face the swarming crowd.

"I didn't know you could dance like that!" Janie shouted over the crowd.

"Neither did I," I answered, but my whispered reply was lost in the noise. My eyes were feverishly searching the gymnasium for my dark stranger, but to no avail. He had vanished completely.

I spent the next half hour fending off various pick up lines, from guys who had never before acknowledged my existence, before I was finally able to slip away to the bathroom down the hall from the gym. I had just finished washing my hands when I caught my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed and my eyes were sparkling. There was a secretive smile lingering on my lips and I was certain it was an after-effect from the dance.

As I pulled the door open and floated out into the hallway, I stopped dead. Mike Rogers, captain of the football team, was leaning menacingly against the opposite wall.

"Hi Becky," he purred. "I liked watching you dance. Did you like being watched?" He was dressed, to my astonishment, as a football player. I almost laughed. The guy had no imagination, what so ever. He smiled at me, but it came off as more of a leer. I tried to ignore him and turned right to go up the hall and return to the gym.

Suddenly, he was there again, blocking my path and reaching his hand out to touch my face.

"Don' run off," he oozed. His stale breath stank of beer and I figured he must have been one of those idiots in crepe paper. I brushed his hand away before it could make contact with my skin and he smiled, amused at my discomfort.

"I've been waiting out here to talk to you. You wouldn't want to be rude, would you Becky?"

"B-Becca," I corrected automatically, then wished I hadn't spoken. He chuckled. I tried to push past him, feigning more confidence than I felt. Mike made me a little nervous. Mike drunk made me more than a little scared. He laughed out loud at my struggles and shoved me back up the hall. I backed carefully toward the center of the hall; I didn't want to get pinned against the wall. I hoped that I could keep him guessing what direction I would take and then surprise him when I ran for it.

His eyes mocked me. He wasn't very bright, but he was well versed in reading an opponent. Each move I made was carefully accounted for and countered by him so that I was herded further and further away from the safety of the crowded gym. I tried to call for help, but no one came. The blaring music in the gym was more than adequate to drown out my cries, and they seemed to amuse Mike further, judging by his chuckle. I shut my mouth stubbornly. I determined that I wouldn't give the sadistic bastard the pleasure of hearing me scream again. I would fight my way out of this.

I glanced over my shoulder, trying to judge whether or not I could make it to another door, a room, a closet, anything that would put a solid slab of wood between Mike and me. I saw a door down the hall and the lights twinkling from underneath it indicated that it was a back entrance to the gym. If I could make it to the door, I would be back in the crowd, safe. I only had a moment to decide what to do, before my intention would be plain to Mike.

I feinted to the right then turned and bolted without waiting to see if my gambit worked. I raced toward the door with everything I had. I hit the doors with a jarring rattle, only to realize that they were locked. I heard Mike laugh softly behind me and I realized he had known all along what I was up to and that it was hopeless.

I spun back to face him, my back pressed to the door behind me. He closed the distance casually. I pushed off of the door and tried to run again but he caught my hair and stopped me painfully, yanking me back to the wall. Now that I was well and truly caught I felt the panic begin to build in my chest.

"Let me go, you oaf!" I screamed the insult with distain, hoping that someone would hear and come to see who was yelling in the hall.

"Becky," he began and a new emotion fought the panic for dominance: now I was angry.

"My name is _Becca_ you imbecile," I sneered at him. "_B-E-C-C-A!_ Oh, I'm sorry," I feigned contrition. "Can you spell words with more than three letters?" The insults didn't even seem to penetrate his thick skull. My fists pounding on his chest didn't faze him, either. I tried to stomp on his feet, kick his shins, even knee him in the groin, but he deftly avoided all of my blows and slapped me hard across my cheek for my efforts. The blow left my ears ringing as if my head was inside a massive bell.

"_Becca_," he warned, saying my name with the same sneer that I had directed at him. "I don't normally hit girls. But that doesn't work if you hit first." I sucked in a breath to scream again, determined that someone would hear me if I had to scream the walls down.

"Shhhh," he soothed, sealing his hand tightly over my mouth, the other snatching my left hand and twisting my arm behind my back painfully. My shoulder protested, on the verge of dislocation or some seriously painful breakage, and I fought the haze of pain that threatened to swamp my mind, trying to drag me into the darkness.

"Be good," he said pleasantly. "I don't _have_ to hurt you." He leaned in to run the tip of his nose along my jaw and I could feel his hot, moist breath on my neck. I felt a tear roll down my cheek, from the pain in my shoulder, and he licked it from my chin. I gagged, the feel of his stale, slimy saliva was repulsive. I vaguely wondered if it would put him off to be vomited on, probably not, but then the wave of nausea passed. He began to slop hard, wet kisses down my neck and his hand moved from my mouth to my right shoulder, groping down toward my chest. I screamed, hopelessly, but he ignored me. His fingers bit into my arm. When I tried to jerk away, his grasp snagged on the sleeve of my blouse and the delicate fabric surrendered, tearing with an audible ripping sound that seemed to be the embodiment of what Mike intended for me in this dark, deserted hall.

One second I was pinned to the wall with Mike's body pressing into mine, the next second he was gone. Just gone. I opened my eyes in time to see Mike fly fifteen feet down the hall and then slide another ten after making harsh contact with the tile floor. Standing in front of me, Ian's body lowered slightly into a defensive crouch and a low growl emanated from his throat. I felt myself sinking to the floor, my tender arm clutched protectively across my chest, the tears coursing freely down my cheeks.

Mike must have thought better of trying to attack someone his own size, because he scrambled to his feet, wiping the blood from his lip, and ran off down the hall to the exit at the far end. Ian turned and scooped me into his arms effortlessly. I clung to him, weeping uncontrollably on his tuxedo shirt. He turned away from the gym and carried me to an empty room that I later realized was Coach Cormer's office. He sat down on an ugly brown plaid loveseat, with me ensconced safely on his lap, and let me cry.

It was not a pretty cry, with fat tears that splashed delicately down my cheeks. No, I was wracked by sobs that were wrenched unwillingly from my chest. Tears soaked through the soft shirt beneath my cheek and I could feel snot trying to pour from my nose. I kept sniffing, but it was a losing battle. I was immensely relieved when a silk hankie appeared in front of my eyes and I quickly blew my nose. As the shock and panic began to subside, I first became aware of soothing words murmured in a language I didn't recognize. Then I began to notice the hands that ran up and down my back, caressed my hair, and wiped a tear from my cheek. I became slowly, embarrassingly cognizant of my position on Ian's lap.

"W-what l-language is th-that?" I hiccupped. His body stiffened and my embarrassment intensified. I cleared my throat nervously. "I'm sorry," I began. "I can move…if… I'm making you uncomfortable." He didn't answer, but the gentle tightening of his arms seemed to me to be a denial. I didn't offer again. I was more than content to stay where I was. I had never felt safer.

"Are you hurt?" his husky voice sent shivers down my spine, and I realized he was angry. I pulled back slightly so that I could see his face, his eyes were averted but his jaw was clenching and unclenching mechanically. I waited. Finally, his gaze returned to me and I gasped. I had been wrong. He wasn't angry, he was furious.

"Are you hurt?" he asked again, and I shook my head in answer. I started to pull away, to remove myself from his lap and make some excuse to leave.

"Don't be ridiculous," he grumbled and pulled me back down to his shoulder. "_I'm_ not going to hurt you, little fool. _What _were you doing alone with that-drunken-miscreant?!" The words gritted out from between his clenched jaws and I was unsure how to answer.

"I wasn't" I protested and I heard an answering scoff rumble from the chest pressed to my ear. "That's not what I meant," I clarified. "I was just coming back from the bathroom and he cornered me. I wasn't _intentionally_ alone with him." He grunted his acceptance of my response. "Thank you," I whispered. "For…you know…"

"You're welcome," he interrupted and we lapsed into a comfortable, if surreal silence.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 Repercussions**

Eventually, we both became aware of the time that had passed and we knew Janie would start to worry.

"I should probably get back," I whispered reluctantly, half hoping that he wouldn't hear me.

"I'll take you home," he sighed, but made no movement to accomplish that.

"You don't have to do that. My mom will come and get us, I just have to call her."

"Go tell Janie that I'm taking you home. She can come now, or she can stay, but I'm taking you home myself." His tone brooked no argument, and I didn't really want to argue anyway. I nodded and he set me back on my feet. He stood and wiped a finger under my eye. I thought at first that he was wiping away the last vestiges of my crying jag. But then, he looked at his finger and showed me the black smudge, smiling at me. I had forgotten the make-up, and it didn't look like it survived the flood. I shrieked and flew out of the room, down the hall, and back into the ladies room.

Sure enough, there were black trails down both cheeks and pools of the stuff under each eye. I went into a stall for some toilet paper and cleaned my face as best I could with water and elbow grease. When I had removed most of the traces of my emotional distress, I turned my attention to my blouse. The sleeve was ripped and hanging down my arm where fresh bruises were beginning to bloom. I shivered, remembering the cause of the bruises, and put it out of my mind, focusing instead on the task itself, rather than the necessity for it. I tied the ripped edges of the fabric together and pulled my hair over my shoulder to cover the hasty repair. Hopefully it would pass inspection long enough for me to get past Mom and change.

I emerged to find Ian on guard duty outside the ladies room door. He gestured for me to lead the way and I headed off up the hall toward the still thumping gymnasium. I searched the teaming masses fruitlessly until Ian spotted Janie on the dance floor and pointed me in the right direction.

"Janie," I shouted over the music. "Janie!" I shouted again, and she finally looked at me.

"What's wrong?" she guessed after looking at my red eyes and the traces of my make-up.

"N-nothing," I lied. "I'm ready to go home and Ian offered me a ride. Are you ready to go?"

"Ian?" she asked puzzled. She looked at him over my shoulder and I followed her gaze. He was waiting, patiently, just off the dance floor, scanning the crowd around Janie and me. He was wearing a formerly impeccable tuxedo, now tear stained and smudged with kohl. A knee-length black cape hung at his shoulders. I suddenly realized that he was the Phantom of the Opera that I had danced with earlier and I felt my knees go to water. "Wow! Sweet! You are so going to have to spill later!" She stopped as she looked back at my red, slightly puffy eyes. "Are you sure you're okay?" Janie asked.

"Positive," I reassured her, firmly turning my attention back to my friend.

"Then I'm going to stay. I'm having a good time. And if you're sure you're okay…" she trailed off, giving me the chance to change my mind and ask her to come with me.

"Okay, I'll see you at school tomorrow," I said and managed a reasonable smile to go with it. I hesitated and she started to turn away. "Janie?" I called her back. "Um… be careful, okay?" She looked at me curiously, clearly starting to worry again. "Just…stay with a group, okay? Don't…you know…wander off by yourself. Have someone walk you or drive you home, or call for a ride. Just stay with people, promise?"

"Okay, Becca. No problem." She smiled and turned back to dance.

I turned and walked back to Ian.

"She wants to stay," I told him. He nodded, seemingly unsurprised. He placed a hand lightly on the small of my back and turned me toward the door. We walked across the parking lot in silence and he unlocked the doors to a black BMW M3 with the remote on his key ring. I stopped in surprise, remembering the first day of school and the car that had nearly run me over. He opened the door for me and waited until I was inside before shutting it behind me.

More quickly than seemed possible, he was sliding in beside me and the engine purred to life. He maneuvered through the crowded parking lot and out onto the road. The darkness seemed to create a blanket of privacy around us. I wanted him to drive slowly. I wanted to make the moment, as strange as it was, last as long as possible.

All too soon we were turning onto my street and stopping in front of my house. He killed the engine and I sucked in a breath. He didn't seem to be in a great hurry to leave. He was unnaturally still, gripping the steering wheel and glaring out the window.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Sorry?" I asked. "For what?"

"I'm sorry he put his hands on you and I was too late to stop him." He still sounded angry, but I knew now that he wasn't angry at me.

"Ian," I began carefully. "You _did_ stop him." I wasn't sure why, but I felt it was very important to make Ian understand that Mike hadn't managed to do what he had planned to do.

"He…hurt you," he insisted in an anguished voice.

"Bruises heal," I said softly. "You saved me from something much worse." He nodded, understanding but not quite over his undeserved guilt yet.

"Ian, can I ask you something?" He nodded, staring out of the windshield into the darkness. "Did you…um…almost run me over?" He looked at me confused. "On the first day of school," I clarified. He smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry about that, I was probably driving a bit fast."

"A bit?"

"Point taken," he said, smiling. "I apologize for scaring you."

"And the honking?" I asked pointedly.

"I guess I was a little irritable, I apologize for that too."

"Then I apologize for kicking your car. I didn't damage it, did I?"

"No," he chuckled, "and I wish you wouldn't apologize for that. You were justified."

"Then I take it back," I said, smiling. "Can I ask you something else?"

"Of course."

"That was you, tonight, right? The dance, I mean?"

He said nothing at first and I thought I could see a rare blush tingeing his pale cheeks.

"Why?" I asked simply.

Then he looked at me sideways and a roguish grin lifted one corner of his mouth and he winked at me.

"Vanity," he answered and I was more confused than ever. "I just wanted to show all of those pansies how to handle a woman on the dance floor." He lowered his eyes and looked at me through his lashes. "And maybe, I wanted to show you what a real man can do, too."

My breath hitched and I spent a dizzying few seconds with my mouth opening and closing without ever actually making a noise. He chuckled. I blushed.

"I guess it worked," I said sourly. "Mike understood the message a little _too_ clearly."

"I'm sorry for that," he said again, sincere regret written on his perfect face. He was the picture of remorse.

"Don't sweat it," I reassured him, "it wasn't your fault that he's a total sociopath. Thanks for the ride," I murmured and turned to reach for the door handle. It pulled from my grasp and he was there, opening the door. I hadn't even heard him get out of the car. How had he gotten around so fast? "Um…thank you," I mumbled. He walked beside me to the door with his hands clasped lightly behind his back. I wondered if he was being a gentleman, or if he thought I would have a psychotic episode if he touched me, like a PTSD reaction or something.

"Do you need me to speak with your mother? I could explain why I brought you home, instead of you calling." He was chivalry personified.

"No, that's okay. I'll be fine. Trust me," I insisted. "She doesn't need details. See you at school."

"Goodnight, Rebecca," he said, and I didn't hate it when he used my given name. It had a much nicer ring to it than when my mother was shrieking it up the stairs. He reached out a hand and gently pulled my hair over my right shoulder, more completely covering the tear in my blouse.

"Goodnight," I answered. He ran a lingering finger down my jaw and I wondered if he was going to kiss me. I wasn't sure if I wanted him to or not, in light of what had occurred earlier. But, then he sighed, turned, and started back down the walk to his car. "Ian?" I called softly. He stopped and turned back. "Thank you…for…you know, everything," I finished lamely. He smiled and nodded, then slid gracefully into the driver's seat. He eased the car into a u-turn and disappeared from sight. I sighed and went inside to make my explanation to Mom.

The next morning dawned bright and clear. I lay in bed for a few minutes thinking over everything that had happened the night before. All things considered, my mom seemed to have handled my arrival pretty well last night. She was a little surprised that a boy had brought me home, but I had a sneaking suspicion that she had been watching at the window and saw Ian's BMW. That seemed to go a long way toward appeasing any offended sensibilities she might have harbored. I rolled out of bed and stared at my reflection in the mirror over the dresser. There were fingerprint shaped bruises running down my right bicep and my left shoulder was bruised and sore. There was a red scrape on my neck, where Mike's 5 o'clock shadow had grazed my delicate skin, alongside a deeper mark from his rough kisses, and there was a bright red tinge on my cheek from his slap. I groaned and dug through my closet for a turtle-neck sweater. I went into the bathroom and borrowed some of Jenna's powder and blusher to blend the pink tone of my cheek into something resembling normal. Covering the marks made it easier to pretend that they weren't there. I also left my hair down. Today, I felt like becoming invisible.

I went downstairs to breakfast and found my mom staring at the front page of the newspaper with her cereal spoon poised half way to her mouth and dripping on the table. I moved around to read over her shoulder and reeled in horror.

"Grave vandalized on Halloween," read the headline. I read on in shock:

"Late last night, an unknown person or persons entered the Church Street Cemetery some time between midnight and three a.m. and vandalized one of the occupied graves according to police. Only one grave was disturbed and authorities are unable to determine a motive at this time. The grave in question was plot number seven hundred ninety two and the manager of he facility revealed that it was only recently sold to Mr. and Mrs. Arnold McAllister after the untimely death of their daughter.

The stone marker was knocked over and cracked, a source in the sheriff's office said. The newly laid sod was torn and shoved aside to bare the earth beneath. There is no indication, yet, as to whether or not the coffin and body were disturbed and the papers have been filed by the county coroner's office to exhume the remains for further investigation.

The parents of the deceased have declined to comment, saying only that they prefer to keep their own counsel in this private family matter."

The article went on with details and theories but I couldn't read any further. I stood in dumb shock, my face a mirror of that on my mother. Lisa's grave vandalized? The ground dug up and the stone broken? Who would do such a thing? What kind of monster would do this to her family, to the town? Everyone was just starting to feel normal, now this.

When Jenna walked into the kitchen, Mom snapped the paper out of sight and we jumped into an incomprehensible conversation, but Jenna wasn't fooled. She had already heard the news from one of her friends.

Elkins High school was, once again in confused turmoil. It became readily apparent that the villain must be one of our own. Someone we saw on the street, maybe someone we had welcomed into our homes. It was disturbing and frightening and the anonymity of the perpetrator made the person all the more fearsome and grotesque.

I peaked at Ian in Drama class and he seemed distant. He was staring at his desk, unseeing. He didn't look at me, or any one else. Mr. Carter seemed to understand that we weren't up to reading today and asked us to study privately. No one really studied. Most turned to their neighbors in hushed whispers.

After the bell rang, I started to follow Ian out of the door, but Mr. Carter called me back.

"Becca," he began softly. "I just wanted to ask you if you would be up to reading the Juliet part for class. You were the understudy, and now that Lisa…" he trailed off uncomfortably. "Well, I understand if you don't want to, but I hope you'll think about it first. We'll pick up the reading again on Monday, take the weekend and think about it, all right?" he asked gently. I nodded and left the class, not meeting his concerned eyes.

Guilty tears stung my eyes and I bypassed the cafeteria for the girls' bathroom down the hall. It was empty, for which I was profusely grateful. I went into the last stall, locked the door and collapsed on the lid of the toilet. The tears spilled over and I hid my face in my hands. I was so glad that Mr. Carter had asked me to read Juliet and it made me sick to my stomach. I had wanted some of Lisa's luck, but not at the cost of her life. Even now, feeling the guilt didn't stop the happiness.

I missed my last two classes, hiding in the girls' bathroom, and didn't feel especially bad about it. I knew my mom would get a call from the office and I would have some explaining to do when she got home. That was okay. I was pretty sure she would understand. I walked home in a fog, still carrying my things from Drama class, having failed to visit my locker after the final bell.

I was half a block from school when a honk startled me. I looked up to see a black BMW creeping along next to me. The window glided down and Ian leaned over the passenger seat.

"Get in," he ordered tersely.

"I-I'm fine, thanks," I stammered in confusion.

"Get _in_," he demanded again and I could feel the irritation in his voice.

"Ian," I pointed out, "you're holding up traffic." It was true; there was a steadily growing line of angry students behind him. He ignored them and continued to crawl along, pacing me.

"_Get in,_" he growled. Several people honked and I began to realize that the other drivers' anger for the rolling traffic block was being directed at me.

"Oh, fine!" I snapped, not at all happy about his high-handedness, but unwilling to bear the brunt of the rising tempers on the street behind us. The BMW halted suddenly and the door flew open, Ian having leaned across to open it from the inside before I could even reach for the handle. I had barely closed the door after sitting down, when he growled "Fasten your seatbelt," and punched the accelerator, leaving the confused crowd in the distance. I scrambled to find and buckle the belt, not because of his order, but because of the alarming speed with which he was leaving, not only school, but the town of Elkins in his rear view mirror.

"Am I being kidnapped?" I asked, only partially kidding. "Because, if I am, I'd at least like to stop and leave a ransom note, maybe pick up a toothbrush, clean clothes…" I trailed off, my attempts at levity clearly failing to lighten his dark mood.

"Where were you?" His harsh demand startled me.

"I beg your pardon?" I asked, my tone leaving no doubt that I was not _actually_ asking for his pardon so much as questioning his assumption that I would need it. "What do you mean 'where were you?' I was on the sidewalk, until you practically snatched me off the street!"

He turned his glare on me and I felt a shiver run down my spine. "Where were you _after lunch_?" he clarified.

"Huh?" was my snappy retort. "What are you talking about? I was at school, same as every day." He cocked one eyebrow in an astonishingly effective display of superiority. "I was in the girls' bathroom," I mumbled.

"Are you…unwell?" he asked delicately. I burst out laughing, glad to finally shake off the gloomy mood from earlier. He smiled crookedly, unsure of the source of my humor, but my laughter had somewhat reassured him of my immediate health.

"I'm fine, I was just indulging in a little case of the weepies," I admitted.

"What happened to make you cry?" His irritation had mellowed somewhat into genuine concern, but was not completely gone. He eyed my turtleneck meaningfully and reached out a hand to delicately trace the light pink stain on my cheek. I thought I had done a reasonable job covering it up, but he must have noticed it last night.

"Mr. Carter…He asked me if I'd…if I'd…" I took a steadying breath, willing the tears stinging my eyes to retreat. At this rate, Ian was going to think that I did nothing but cry. "He asked me to take over Lisa's part in class. It was just a bout of guilt. You know, what with this morning and all."

He nodded his understanding. The news about Lisa's grave had shaken everyone. "He should not have asked you today. That was not well done of him."

"Oh, it's not his fault," I defended. "I was just feeling guilty because of my little fantasies!" I slapped a hand over my mouth, completely mortified. I never lost control of my mouth like I did when I was with Ian. Of course it would be too much to expect him to just let it go.

"_What fantasies?_" His voice had hardened and his knuckles turned white where he gripped the steering wheel. _Crap! _I thought.

"Not _that _ kind of fantasies!" I insisted, my face flaming. "Just, you know, Lisa getting mono or something and missing half the semester. I was kind of jealous of her," I admitted, not as embarrassed as I thought I should be. "I was just being petty, and then feeling bad about it."

"Don't," he said, and he was back to being tense and staring out the windshield. I didn't like to think how far from town we were or how late I was going to be getting home, but at least he had slowed down to a normal speed. "Don't feel bad for being happy something good happened to you. What happened to Lisa wasn't your doing. You couldn't have done anything to stop it and worrying about it won't change anything." It sounded very reasonable, but I wondered at his flat tone. It was as if he was trying to convince himself more than me.

"Ian?" I asked hesitantly. "Where are we going?" He seemed to come out of a fog. His frown eased and his eyes focused.

"Sorry," he said again. He immediately braked, turning the wheel sharply to the left, sending the car into a skidding U-turn, then punching the accelerator to right the car. I was gripping the door handle and my heart nearly stopped. "I'll take you home."

"Ian?" I asked when my breathing had evened out again. "Why were you mad that I ditched a couple of classes?"

"I wasn't mad," he mumbled.

"_Excuse me?_" I scoffed. 'Get in!' I quoted, imitating his angry growl.

To his credit, he looked a little ashamed of himself. "I was just worried about you, that's all. When you didn't come to English…"

"You were worried?" I asked. "About _me_?"

"I guess I jumped to conclusions, but after last night and then this whole Lisa thing…" he trailed off and the memory of the newspaper article came flooding back to me.

He pulled to a stop and I was shocked and a little disappointed to realize that we were sitting in front of my house. _How could we possibly have gotten back so fast?_ I wondered. I made a mental note to talk to Ian about his driving habits…later. He didn't look at me, but continued to stare out of the windshield distractedly.

"See you Monday?" I asked.

"Mmm," he mumbled, noncommittally.

I climbed out of the car and started up the walk. He didn't pull away until I was inside, but I never once noticed him look up to check on me. He just seemed to know when I was inside and he pulled away from the curb, executed a u-turn, and sped away.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**The Surge**

When Monday arrived, Mr. Carter once again approached me to ask me about taking over the Juliet part. I stared over his shoulder, not wanting to see the disappointment on his face when I told him no. I opened my mouth to decline, but suddenly I saw Ian. He was looking at me intently and his eyes seemed to be begging me to say yes instead.

"N-yes," I stammered, surprising myself even more than Mr. Carter.

"Well…great!" he said, clearly confused by my unusual behavior, but pleased all the same. He announced the change at the beginning of class. There was a little reshuffling to do so that someone could fill in my old part, but finally everyone was settled.

We picked up reading where Lisa and Ian had left off, was it just days ago? After two days of reading, Mr. Carter became so enthusiastic that he moved Ian and me to chairs in the front of the room. I kept waiting for him to reveal that he had secretly built a balcony set and try to force us into costumes. But he was kind of right. Ian and I were really clicking and the rest of the class seemed to feel it, too. Everyone's lines were delivered with more feeling than ever before. We left each class smiling and chatting amiably, the mood lightening with each successive day.

I began to actually enjoy school for the first time in my life. I was even getting along with most of my classmates. Drama helped immensely. I was actually pretty good at reading Juliet. The days breezed by and before we knew it, we were facing Thanksgiving break. Excitement was building. Everyone was anxious for a break. Fall was in full swing and the tree-lined avenues were canopied with a profusion of red, gold, orange, and brown. It was like walking under a patchwork quilt. We couldn't wait for a few days off to enjoy it.

Then, like the aftershocks of an earthquake, our little town was shaken again. Two weeks after Lisa disappeared, the body of a homeless man was found behind a dumpster in the alley that parallels Appleton Avenue. His body had been completely drained of blood and this time the corpse had been mutilated. The article in the paper this time told of decapitation and the authorities were baffled. If there was cult involvement, why escalate to mutilation? If there was no cult, why were they taking the blood? What kind of person steels blood? Parents panicked. Memos went home from school advising heightened vigilance. The town even toyed with instituting a mandatory curfew until the lunatic was caught. It might have helped, if they had done it. But in the end, personal rights and freedoms superceded group security and the town did nothing. They just sat back and waited for someone to tell them that the villain had been caught and the danger had passed.

A week after the homeless man, two hikers staying at the Honeysuckle B&B disappeared on the north face trail. They left in the morning with plans to picnic on the trail and return in time for dinner. They never came back.

The next week it was a co-ed from the college in town that went missing on her way across campus. Her dorm mate said she was headed to do some laundry and get some dinner at the dining hall. Police searched both locations, as well as the grounds to and from each. There was no sign of the student, not even her laundry. Search dogs were taken to the campus and the surrounding woods, but no discernable trail could be discovered. It was Lisa all over again.

The pattern of disappearances continued, one or two people vanishing each week. Parents in town stopped letting their teenagers out at night, regardless of what the town council decided. The local diner was empty. The shops all but closed up. The movie house had to cancel several showings after dark because there simply were not enough paying customers. Nor was there sufficient staff, as the students who worked in the evenings were forced by their parents to take leaves of absence until the killer was caught.

My mother was no different. She instituted "family time" as an excuse, but the bald truth was that she refused to let Jenna or I out of her sight. We even did our homework at the kitchen table under her surreptitiously watchful eye. Suddenly, our kitchen needed to be cleaned for two hours every night. When Jenna and I moved to the living room to watch t.v. (translate: fight over the remote control), Mom suddenly realized that she needed to dust the knick knacks on the mantle. Every night.

We watched the news together every night at ten. Every night it grew more grim. Elkins seemed to be in the grips of a serial killer, perhaps more than one. As more and more people disappeared, we kept expecting to see reports of bodies recovered, but only a few were. They were always the same now: no blood, no head. Then it became immeasurably worse.

"Linda, I'm reporting to you live from Elkins, a small town midway between Charleston, West Virginia and Washington D.C., where authorities are baffled by what appears to be a surge in crime, possibly linked to the activities of a serial killer." The pretty blonde reporter from Channel 8 was standing in front of the Elkins High gym. As we sat on the couch, watching the news cast, the three of us wore identical expressions of shock and horror.

"As you can see, behind me," she continued, "I am at the scene of the most recently discovered body in this crime wave: that of thirteen year old Christopher Gage." We could see the coroner in the background standing next to a sheet-covered mound. The police and crime scene investigators swarmed over the area taking pictures and ducking their heads to talk privately.

"Young Christopher disappeared only this morning on his way to school," the reporter continued. "The killer who, until now, seems to have stalked the darkness, has become bold enough to strike in the light of day, on a city street, leaving parents to wonder if there is anywhere safe left in the town of Elkins.

"This is Connie Roberts reporting live for Channel 8 News. Linda."

The camera returned to the studio where the two anchor reporters had adopted suitably somber expressions.

"Thank you Connie," replied the anchor, Linda. "We're told that the local sheriff's office is offering a reward for information leading to the capture of the unknown perpetrator." She quickly and brightly segued into the weather report and we sat in dumb silence.

Mom shooed us off to bed at 10:30, and I lay on my bed thinking for several hours after that. I was in shock. Any one could be next. If whoever did this would attack a little kid in broad daylight in a public place, what would stop them from snatching anyone from anywhere?

I slept in on Saturday. A minor luxury, I know, but it was one that I enjoyed. I could hear Jenna downstairs, fighting with Mom. Jenna wasn't taking well to house arrest. She argued that she would die if she didn't go out and it would save the serial killer the trouble. Mom dropped something that crashed to the floor with the tinkle of shattering china and a low oath.

"Don't you _ever_ say anything like that _ever again_!" Mom's muffled voice was barley audible, but clearly furious.

"Mom!" Jenna sobbed, protesting the inevitable end of her argument.

"Just go upstairs for a while," Mom ordered, and I could hear the deep breaths she used to try to calm herself down. Jenna went storming up the stairs and passed my room still ranting, all be it under her breath. I made my way down stairs to check on Mom. She was on her knees in the kitchen, ostensibly to clean up the broken crockery. But she wasn't cleaning. Her face was in her hands and she was obviously crying, and just as obviously trying to be quiet about it.

"Mom?" I asked and I saw her stiffen and begin scraping broken chunks of glass into a pile. I barely caught sight of her surreptitiously swipe at the tears on her face. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, honey, I'm fine." Her voice trembled just a bit. I walked over to her and knelt beside her to help. "I've got it, babe. You go on."

"Mom?" I began, unsure of myself. "Mom, it's going to be o.k. Maybe not right away, but it will be. Jenna and I will be just fine." She finely looked at me and I could see the traces of the tears she hadn't been able to erase in that one stealthy gesture. "She's just mad, she'll get over it, and someday she'll even appreciate it," I promised, praying that Jenna would eventually gain the maturity that I was crediting her for.

"Thanks, sweetie." She smiled a wobbling smile and hugged me over the pile of broken glass. I hugged her back and we finished cleaning up.

"Mom? This may not be the best time to bring this up." I was hesitant, but hopeful.

"What is it?" She sounded suspicious. Not an auspicious beginning.

"Well," I hedged, "you know, I'm sixteen now, and it's not exactly _safe_ to be walking to school these days…" I only felt slightly guilty at playing the "I'm scared of being kidnapped by the serial killer" card.

"What Becca?" I could hear the skepticism in her voice.

"Well, I have a little money saved up for a car, and if you could help me with the rest, I could pay you back, you know, once I get a job." I saw her expression start to harden and I rushed on, hoping to head off an outright refusal. "Not that that would be any time soon. I mean, obviously, with what's going on right now, but I know that _you'd_ feel better about me _driving_ to school than _ walking…"_ and here I laid out my final weapon, "_alone_." I let all of my grief over Reed moving wash back up into my eyes and I saw her will begin to crumple.

"I'll think about it," she hedged, but I could tell I had already won.

"Thanks, Mom," I smiled.

I had been sitting on a small bundle of savings for two years now. I had squirreled away almost two thousand dollars of allowance, birthday, Christmas and babysitting money, and any quarters that I found under the couch. It wasn't enough to buy anything fancy, but I was hoping that Mom could chip in enough to get me a decent, reliable, non-embarrassing used car that would get me around town. Jenna would be mad, but she really didn't have a leg to stand on. She had never saved so much as a plug nickel. Every time she got any money, she had it mentally allocated by the time it left the envelope. Mom had already told her that if she wanted any help buying a car, she would have to save some money on her own. Jenna just laughed: she was fine riding with friends, and her friends didn't seem to mind either. I, on the other hand, was determined to be the master of my own fate rather than relying on the good will of my friends.

I started checking the classified ads in the paper weekly. The best ads were always in the Sunday paper, but there were still plenty to peruse throughout the week. I "accidentally" left the paper on the kitchen table a few times with potentially good deals circled in red ink. After a few days, the paper started to look as if it was bleeding and Mom made me leave it on the desk in my room. After two weeks, Mom seemed about to start pulling out her hair. My hints hadn't been exactly subtle.

"All right, all ready! Becca, get your coat. We're going car shopping."

"Yes!" I shouted and ran to comply before she could change her mind.

We visited the three used car lots in town, but we didn't find anything that we could agree on in my price range. Mom had agreed to match my own two thousand dollars, giving me a budget of four thousand. Since I would still have to pay tax, tag it, and secure insurance, I figured I could spend about three thousand. It wasn't going to be a sexy car, but it shouldn't be embarrassing, either. I was hoping for a nice, plain Nissan, maybe a Toyota. We gave up for the day when we found ourselves arguing over an ancient Volvo that had once been brown, but had faded to a muddy beige. There was no way I was driving that monster to school.

The following Sunday, I was perusing the classifieds, and there it was.

1975 VW Beetle, engine mods, runs great,

new tires, plugs, belts, etc. No A/C, needs

paint, rough interior. Reliable 2500, obo

It was perfect. It was quirky enough to have character, but normal enough to keep my Mom happy. I wasn't too concerned about paint. I was thinking, maybe I could get the auto body repair class at the Vo-Tech to paint it cheap. Plus, it was already five hundred dollars below my estimated budget, meaning I would have money left over for fixing it up.

I grabbed the page with the ad and ran to the phone. I called the number listed at the bottom of the ad and inquired if it had been sold yet.

"No, not yet. You're the first call I've gotten." I sighed in relief and asked if I could come by and look at it. We agreed to a time that afternoon and I hung up to find my Mom. I found her in the back yard, pulling weeds from a flowerbed that seemed to be nothing but. I showed her the ad and told her about the appointment for that afternoon.

"I don't know Becca," she began. "I don't think those cars are known for being very safe. I want you to have something that I won't worry about you in."

"Mom," I could hear the whine in my voice, "I'm a very careful person. It's not a long drive to school, I can't get into much more than a fender bender, if anything. I promise, I just want to look, I won't make a definite decision until we've talked about it." I was careful to emphasize that _I_ would be making the decision, with her input and advise, but that it _would_ be my decision. If I wasn't careful, Mom would have me driving a station wagon to school. _Ugh!_

Mom agreed that we could look at the car, but she insisted on taking along a friend to help. I bristled. She wanted to take her _boyfriend_, Jared. _Once again, Ugh!_ Mom had started dating Jared almost four months ago and ever since it had been "I'll ask Jared," to everything. It was as if she couldn't think for herself anymore. It irked me. My mother had always been so independent, self-sufficient. Now she didn't seem able to decide what color shirt to wear without Jared telling her.

"I'll call Jared and see if he'd mind coming along," she said.

_Great,_ I thought. Now I would have to spend my afternoon listening to his self-important ramblings, and if he said "no" to the car, my mom would veto it, too. I was really beginning to dislike the guy.

Jared pick us up in his pick-up truck. Mom scooted over to sit in the middle, thankfully, so I sat by the window trying to ignore the sappy eyes they made at each other. Jared drove north on Highway 68, past the high school and toward the outskirts of town. There was a newer subdivision on the outer limits of Elkins, only built in the last few years. It was the kind of place my Mom would love to live. There were pretty houses, only slightly varying from each other, just enough to avoid being labeled "cookie-cutters." Some had a mirror-image floor plan, or an extra bedroom or slightly shifted configuration. Others had different brick, or stone accents. There was even a little park with a playground in the center of the neighborhood. It was nice, all in all, but it didn't have much personality.

We pulled up in front of a house that looked a little older, like it was one of the first in the neighborhood. The grass was badly in need of mowing and the paint on the trim was starting to peel. I guessed that the occupants were either too busy to keep up, or they were the kind of neighbors everyone else complained about behind their backs. I was hoping for the former. The condition of my car was likely to be in direct relation to the state of affairs in the rest of the house.

The little Beetle was sitting in the driveway and the ad was right. The paint job was pretty bad. There was no way to tell what color the car had been originally, but at some point, someone had decided to get creative. They had painted it hot pink with lime green flames on the front fenders. It looked grainy, as if they had tried to paint it with ordinary spray paint. Actually, that's probably exactly what they had done. I made a mental note to look into the Vo-Tech paint option as soon as humanly possible.

Jared knocked on the door and a man answered. He was in his early forties, dressed in business casual slacks and button down shirt, sleeves rolled up and collar loosened. He looked like he had just gotten in from work, and he looked tired.

"Can I help you?" he asked, sounding harassed. He probably assumed we were selling something.

"We're here about the car," Jared answered.

"Oh, thank God," he sighed heavily. "I have been on him to get that eyesore out of my driveway for six months." He turned back to yell up the hallway into the house. "Randy!"

Randy came loafing up the hall. He was in his early twenties with long hair that hung in his eyes. "Hey, you buyin' the car, or what?"

"Randy?" Jared seemed doubtful that Randy had the cognitive abilities to handle a conversation. "We're here to _look_ at the car. Then we'll consider it."

"Yeah, whatever. Ya' wanna drive it?"

"Well, yes, actually." To Jared's credit, he was maintaining his calm exterior, although he probably wanted to slap Randy. I know that I did. Randy dug in his pockets, fished out a key ring, and tossed it to Jared. I snagged it from his hand before he could close his fist around it. He turned his annoyed gaze on me. I shrugged, unconcerned.

"_I'm_ shopping for a car for _me_. If anybody's test driving it, I am. You are, of course, welcome to come along." He was not happy with my tone. Mom elected to wait in the truck. Jared and I walked to the hot pink bug. I unlocked the driver's door, opened it, and reached through to unlock the passenger door for Jared. "Buckle up."

I started the engine and reached for the gear shift, taking an uneasy breath.

"Wait," Jared stopped me. "Just let it idle for a minute. Pop it, would you, I want to have a peak at he engine." I searched for and found a release lever and pulled it. I didn't bother joining Jared at the back of the car to look at the motor. It would be all for show. I just waited in the car for him to finish looking at whatever one looks at when a motor is running and get back in the car. Finally, he climbed back in the passenger seat and buckled his seatbelt.

"Okay, let's go."

I backed carefully out of the drive, shifted to first gear, and eased down the street. Jared was frowning, but I couldn't tell if he was disapproving or just concentrating.

"Rev it up a little," he instructed. I complied, and was pleased with the responding surge in speed and power. I wasn't looking for a race car, but neither did I want to be run over by some redneck jerk in a jacked up 4X4.

"Stop!" he shouted suddenly. I slammed on the breaks and the little car screeched to a stop and died. I had forgotten to disengage the clutch in my panic.

"What?!" I gasped. "What is it?" I was looking around, checking the mirrors, looking for flames. I could find nothing out of order.

"Nothing," he answered calmly. "Just checking the breaks." He smiled smugly. I rolled my eyes at him and mumbled rude comments under my breath as I restarted the engine. I turned right at the next corner and continued my meandering test drive.

"So, what's the verdict?" I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

He shrugged. "It's okay. Ugly, but okay."

"I can handle ugly. I have a plan."

"Do tell."

I outlined my theory about the Vo-Tech. He nodded in approval. Maybe he wasn't as bad as I had assumed. He seemed pretty cool, all told. He didn't treat me like an idiot because I didn't know a fan belt from a radiator hose. He just gave his honest opinion about the car, and kept any sarcastic comments to himself. I could really appreciate that. I decided to try the direct approach.

"Listen, Jared, my mom is pretty much looking for your o.k. here, so if you're not going to give it, you'd better tell me now so I don't get attached."

"Becca, it's a car, not a puppy."

"It's not just a car, it's freedom. Tell me you haven't forgotten what that means to a teenager."

He smiled. "I get it. I don't know, Becca. This is a pretty old car, and without knowing what that pot head did to the engine, I can't promise your mother that it's reliable. If it broke down, you wouldn't be able to fix it. Your mother would kill me if I let you get this car and then something happened to you."

I had to think quickly. I didn't want to get stranded with an unreliable hunk of junk either, but I really loved this car. Plus, I had a really good feeling about it, and I liked to trust my instincts.

"Okay," I was in bargaining mode. "I'll take a basic mechanic course at the Vo-Tech over the summer." He still looked skeptical. "I'll get a cell phone."

"How are you going to afford insurance, gas, and a cell bill?"

"I'll get a pre-paid phone and only use it in emergencies, then it won't really cost me anything."

"You can't take a class until school is out next summer. What if something happens in the mean time?" He had me on that one.

"I won't drive anywhere but school for two months. I'll take it to a mechanic. I'll…"

"Okay, okay," he chuckled. "I'll give a provisional approval to your mother. But, you have to promise to get it looked at, and I like the cell phone idea, too. I'd like to add one more condition." I held my breath. "I want to show you how to do basic maintenance and minor repairs. Consider it car tutoring. Saturday mornings, okay?"

I pulled to a stop in front of Randy's house and carefully considered Jared's proposition. I would have to give up my Saturday mornings to let Jared boss me around for a while. In exchange, I would get my car, and it probably wouldn't hurt to learn what he wanted to teach me anyway. I didn't want to be one of those helpless females who gets stranded by a flat tire.

"Deal," I agreed and we shook hands.

I was smiling when I climbed out of the car. Mom jumped out of the truck to meet us. She ignored my smile and looked at Jared.

"Well?" she asked.

Jared looked at me significantly. "We talked about it and Becca and I have reached a consensus. I think the car will be okay, but Becca is still going to take a few precautions. A full check by a mechanic, cell phone, a maintenance course, and I'm going to teach her how to take care of the basics."

Mom looked like she still wanted to say "no." I looked at Jared, pleading with my eyes. He leaned down and whispered something to mom. She sighed in defeat and turned to me.

"All right," she grumbled.

"Really?" I jumped up and down and squealed with happiness. I grabbed them both into a group hug.

"Calm down, calm down," Jared cautioned. "We still have to bargain here. You are not paying twenty-five hundred for that. It's pretty rough."

I struggled to reign in my enthusiasm as we walked back up to the door. I decided to let Jared do the talking. It would mean a lot to him, and I'd probably just ruin it with my desperation, anyway.

Jared knocked on the door again and Randy came back.

"We're interested in the car, but twenty-five is a little steep for the condition. How much are you willing to come down on the price?"

"I dunno." Randy didn't seem to be bargaining. He didn't seem to really care.

"How about fifteen?" Jared offered. I figured he was aiming low to leave room to negotiate. I fully expected Randy to laugh, or counter the insulting offer with a number closer to the original price, after all, Jared had knocked a thousand dollars off of the price.

"Whatever," he said. Mom, Jared and I look at each other in confusion. Was that a yes?

"Okay, so fifteen hundred then?"

"Yeah, sure. Got cash?" Randy didn't seem to care much. Jared looked at Mom, who just shrugged and looked at me.

"Yes!" I answered happily and pulled a roll of bills from my pocket. Mom looked at me disapprovingly. "It was just in case," I protested. "If you said yes, I wanted to be prepared."  
Randy went back inside and retrieved the title and we saw that it had already been signed and notarized in anticipation of the sale. I carefully counted out the fifteen hundred and reluctantly turned it over. It was the largest single expenditure I had ever made. My hands were shaking a little when I walked back to the bug with the key, my key, in my hand. I started it and eased down the street for the second time, Mom and Jared following behind in the truck.

Mom wasn't taking any chances and had insisted that we stop at a wireless phone store on the way home and look into a pre-paid phone. By the time we made it home, I had a new car, a new phone, and an appointment with a mechanic friend of Jared's.


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**Intensity**

By the time I got my car inspected and insured, I had owned it for a week, and only driven it four times, including the test drive. I was so excited when I finally got to drive it to school for the first time. I left early intentionally so that I would have time to get a parking permit from the office. I pulled into the student lot and parked in an empty section. It was still early enough that the parking lot hadn't filled up yet.

A black BMW glided into the space two down from me and I smiled. Only one high school student in Elkins drove a car that nice. It was Ian. I couldn't wait to show off my new wheels. I hadn't told him about the car. I hadn't told anyone, really. Not even Janie.

I climbed out of the car at the same time he did, and I smiled cheerfully at him, but he didn't notice me at first. He turned absently to walk into the building, then froze and slowly turned back. He walked over to my car, not looking at me. He walked around the car several times, inspecting every lurid inch of my new prize. I just waited, smiling. I knew he would eventually have to say something and then I could explain about my plan for the paint job. For the moment, I just let him wallow in the hideousness.

Finally, he concluded his inspection and came to a halt in front of me, still staring at my car.

"No," was all he said.

"No what?"

"No you are not driving _that_."

"Excuse me?" I asked, the beginnings of offended dignity on behalf of my new car stirring in my gut.

"No," he said again, and turned to walk inside, indicating that the conversation was over.

I huffed, slammed my door, and hurried to catch up to him. There was no way that I was going to let that slide without calling him on it.

"What exactly are you talking about?" I demanded. "You can't tell me what kind of car I can drive. You're neither my parent, nor my spouse (not that the last would help you out much anyway)."

"I'll follow you home today and I'll pick you up for school from now on."

My jaw fell open in shock and I stopped walking in the middle of the parking lot.

"NO!" When I finally found my voice, it came out as a shout, even though he wasn't yet far enough away for it to be necessary. But it did finally catch his attention.

"Becca, be reasonable, that thing is a death trap. You cannot go rambling off in that thing alone. You'd be bound to get stranded. I'm not letting you go traipsing off, God knows where, only to break down in the middle of nowhere."

"You're not _letting_ me?" I seethed. "Who do you think you are that you _let_ me do anything?" I stormed off into the building and ignored his attempts to get me to "see reason." I wasn't even sure I was talking to him ever again. _The nerve!_ I thought. I had never before met someone so obnoxious and bossy.

I slammed my locker door shut and went to my first class. Janie could see how angry I still was and left me alone. The real kicker was, I was more disappointed than actually angry. His comments weren't really _offensive_, and he seemed to be genuinely concerned for my safety. It was just that, I _really_ liked Ian. I didn't want him to be a jerk. I didn't want him to be high-handed and bossy. I wanted him to be sweet and funny and nice to be around. I wanted him to be the guy who came to my rescue and then held me gently while I cried. I wanted him to be the guy who worried because I missed a class, not the guy who demanded to know where I was for that class.

I sat through Drama completely ignoring Ian, which wasn't easy considering we were still reading Romeo and Juliet. I refused to even look at him and my lines were delivered in a wooden voice. Mr. Carter was looking at me questioningly. I refused to look at him, either.

After the bell rang, Mr. Carter called me back before I could escape into the hall.

"Becca," he began with the tone of someone who was concerned that you might have lost your mind. "Is everything all right?"

"I'm fine," I said stiffly and glared at the back of Ian's retreating head.

A look of sudden comprehension dawned on Mr. Carter's face. "Oh!" he said with a knowing, smug smile. "I understand. Becca, _Romeo and Juliet_ is just a play, a very romantic play, but just a play. You shouldn't take it personally."

"What?" I hadn't the foggiest idea what he thought he understood, but he wasn't making any sense what so ever. "Mr. Carter, what are you talking about? I'm just ticked off at Ian over a disagreement from this morning." He looked skeptical. "Seriously, he was being a complete jerk!"

"Okay, Becca, just leave the…disagreements outside of class from now on. All right?" He still sounded like he didn't believe me. I was completely frustrated. Why would Mr. Carter think I was mad at Ian over the play? Did he think I was delusional enough to think that Ian was really in love with me, just because we read really well together? Mr. Carter really needed to get a life and stop watching so many psychology documentaries on PBS.

I turned and left the classroom, headed to lunch. I was, if possible, even more annoyed than I was before class. I couldn't very well take my irritation out on Mr. Carter, so his share got lumped in with Ian's. Unfortunately, Ian was still waiting outside the classroom.

"Becca," he began, but I cut him off and tried to skirt around him.

"Go away."

"Becca, at least talk to me!"

I glared at him as I tried to storm around him, but he dodged in front of me again. "Excuse me," I said coldly. Not surprisingly, he didn't budge. This was turning out to be a contest to see who could be more stubborn.

"Becca?" he asked softly and I felt my resistance waver. "I'm sorry I insulted your car." _How did he always know the right thing to say?_ He took a step closer, leaving only a small distance between us. I could lay my head on his chest if I leaned forward just a little. I remembered the feeling of doing just that the night of the Halloween Dance, the night he had rescued me from Mike Rogers. He laid his hand gently on my upper arm, over the spot where the bruises from that night had almost completely faded.

A throat cleared behind me and I realized that Mr. Carter had come out of the classroom and was witnessing this intimate little scene. I lightly shoved Ian in the shoulder and he stepped back, creating a more appropriate distance between us, physically as well as emotionally. Mr. Carter made a bit of a production of shifting the books he was carrying and locking the door, delaying the moment when he would be forced to either leave us alone in the hall or order us to leave.

"I'll think about forgiving you, in a few years, after you apologize to my car." I smiled a begrudging smile and it felt good to tease Ian again. He grinned back. Mr. Carter sighed in relief when we walked away toward the crowded cafeteria. Ian left me at the cafeteria door, smiled one more time, then walked off down the hall in the direction of the library.

"Ian!" I called, and he turned. "Would you like to have lunch with me?"

He smiled ruefully. "Not today," he answered sadly and turned to continue down the hall. I wondered again where he spent his lunch hour and why. And now I wondered what had made him sound so sad.

After lunch, I made my way to English class. Ian was already there, sitting in his usual seat in the back of the room. I started to walk past him to the seat by the window where I usually sat, but he caught my hand as I walked by and nodded at the empty seat next to him.

"Please?" he asked when I hesitated to sit down. I sighed and dropped my things on the desk. He wasn't completely off the hook yet. He still needed to understand that he couldn't just boss me around, but I wasn't going to punish myself by passing on the invitation.

"Still mad at me?" he asked with a grin.

"Still deciding if you are repentant enough," I answered.

The tardy bell rang and Ms. Hoskins cleared her throat to get everyone's attention. She held up a sheet of paper and began reading a poem.

"By day they hide, by night they roam,

And only safe are church and home.

The hunt for blood drives their kind

Controls the body and the mind.

"A thousand years each time shall fly

Before another chance to die.

The offer of a new life given

The chance once more at mortal heaven

"The one who walks in light defiant,

For whom the lure of power wanes

This one tested and proved aright

Shall, in truth, walk in the light.

"His sacrifice of lifetime's self denial

Shall pale before his final trial.

His heart in peril, his soul at stake

He must resist the urge to take.

"The innocent shall temptation bring

When for him, her blood does sing

It's siren call is damnation's mire:

Both souls lost to eternal fire.

"But as the taking damns both to Hell

So the gift saves both as well.

The innocent blood can curse or save

But only when given by the brave.

"Love's first gift, given while

Free of deceit and free of guile.

Gifted in love, accepted in truth

Only then will soul be loosed.

"But caution here, one more will seek

Who preys on the innocent and the weak.

Who draws in prey with loving smile

And traps through lies, deceit and guile.

"This one will come disguised in charm

But safe in his arms, she'll come to no harm.

But if away from his side she is lured

The disease in his soul can never be cured.

"Innocence lost cannot be returned

A harsh, cruel lesson painfully learned.

But more than his heart is apt to be lost:

A moment's mistake, her lifetime the cost.

"Cursed he remains and she shares his fate

She's doomed to die with her chosen mate

Linked souls shall both forfeit the prize,

For one cannot live in the other's demise

"But tarry not, for time does flee

And a lifetime is but a single beat .

One year, no more, from time she ages

To decide how to fill life's pages.

"She must choose which path to take

Holding both their souls at stake.

One year, from majority, then she must choose

Much to gain, all to loose."

I felt the shiver run through the class as Ms. Hoskins finished reading the poem. This was not what we had expected when Ms. Hoskins told us that we were going to be studying and analyzing poetry. We had been expecting something more in the realm of Haiku or possibly Shakespeare.

"Excuse me, Ms. Hoskins?" asked Mary Ann Shepherd from the second row.

"Yes, Mary Ann?"

"I don't get it," Mary Ann challenged.

"What do you mean, you don't 'get it'?" asked Ms. Hoskins.

"I don't understand the poem," Mary Ann clarified. "What is it about? And what's all that stuff about blood? It sounds kind of creepy to me."

"That," began Ms. Hoskins ominously, "is what you all are going to determine. You are each going to take a copy of the poem and then pair up and analyze the poem for meaning, symbolism, and imagery. Look for symbols and discuss them with your partner until you agree on what they mean. Each group will turn in one paper with both names and an in-depth analysis of the poem and a conclusion as to what the poem really means."

A collective groan issued from the room at large. I looked around for a partner. Everyone was pairing up. No one was looking at me. I didn't look at Ian. I wasn't over being mad at him just yet. I heard him clear his throat conspicuously to my right. I studiously ignored him. Then I saw Mary Ann headed our way determinedly with her eyes locked on Ian.

"Becca, please…" he whispered. I sighed. I wouldn't stick him with Mary Ann, no matter how mad I was at him. I didn't _hate_ him.

"All right, Ian. Do you want to work with me?" An inscrutable expression flitted briefly across his face, then he shrugged and lowered his intense gaze. I wasn't sure if the shrug was intended to be an affirmative or a negative, so I waited to see what he would do. Before either one of us could say anything else, however, Mary Ann breezed up to Ian's desk and boldly flirted with him. To his credit, he didn't seem impressed by her obvious attempts at flattery. It was universally accepted that Ian was probably more knowledgeable about literature than the entire English department faculty combined. Of course Mary Ann, the beautiful and shallow, would want the guaranteed A that working with Ian would ensure. And the fact that he was gorgeous, mysterious, and uninterested did help to sweeten the pot a little.

"I don't mean to be rude," Ian interrupted, "but Becca and I really should get started on the assignment." His voice was polite, but firm. Mary Ann looked at me with shocked curiosity. She seemed to be trying to figure out how I had managed to bribe Ian to work with me instead of her. I blushed and stared at my hands on my desk.

"Um, o.k. I guess I'll talk to you later," she said with obvious disappointment and just a hint of an invitation.

"Mmm," Ian replied, noncommittally, as he shifted his desk toward mine. Mary Ann huffed off to snag her second choice for a partner: Wesley Furlong was the second smartest kid in class, but without the brooding coolness Ian wore so well. Wesley was, quite frankly, a geek. It really spoke to Mary Ann's desperation for a good grade that she was willing to make the social sacrifice of working with someone she considered so far beneath her notice.

I looked back from Mary Ann's attempt to sweet-talk Wesley to find Ian looking at me expectantly. I had the sudden feeling that he had been watching me the whole time. I blushed _again_ and mumbled something about getting to work. The corner of his mouth twitched, as if he was fighting a smile.

"So, what do you think it is about?" Ian asked in an almost too-casual tone.

"Well," I hesitated.

"Well?" he prompted, seeming inclined to wait until he heard what I thought before offering his own, undoubtedly superior, opinion. His deep blue eyes were clear and calm today, like the gently rolling Caribbean. I found myself distracted by thoughts of warm breezes and the lap of ocean waves on the shore as I drowsed in a swaying hammock.

"Becca?"

"Oh! Sorry, I guess I was a little distracted." I suddenly realized that I had been staring into his eyes and he was beginning to look askance at me. He chuckled at my blush and I found myself getting annoyed at my, by now predictable, reaction to Ian's presence.

"Well, I would say it is kind of like a prophecy." I had decided against trying to filter my thoughts. It was a lost cause with Ian anyway. I just couldn't seem to concentrate well enough to keep my scattered thoughts to myself. He didn't seem to mind really. He was patiently waiting for me to continue. "I mean, all the "he shall" and "sacrifice" and "innocent blood" and stuff."

"So," he began, once again using that ultra casual voice, "to whom could the 'prophecy' be referring? You know, prophecies tend to be pretty big deals. The person it refers to is probably a pretty unusual character."

"Let's see," I said, scanning back through the poem, looking for clues. "Well, it talks about hunting, and it makes a lot of references to blood: innocent blood, hunt for blood, singing blood. And, wow! Look at all the references to damnation and Hell! You don't think…? No, never mind. That's stupid," I finished lamely.

"What?" he asked, but I remained stubbornly silent. "Tell me," he insisted. I shook my head. "Just tell me," he pressed. "I won't think you're stupid. I promise." I hesitated. He looked up at me through the lush veil of his dark lashes and I felt myself begin to melt into a puddle of insensible babble. "_Please?_" he whispered.

"Vampires?" I blurted out, then immediately slapped my hand over my mouth. _Oh, shut up! Shut up! Shut up!_ I told myself. Now I really did sound like an idiot.

"Vampires, huh?" He didn't laugh at me and he didn't call me stupid. He looked…thoughtful. "Well, that would make sense. So, what would the prophecy be then?"

"Um…I don't think…I mean, how would I…?" I trailed off, afraid to make a complete fool of myself.

"Just think about one line at a time," he shrugged nonchalantly.

"Well, what do _you_ think it's about?" I asked, hoping to distract him and get him to start talking instead of staring at me so intently.

"I'm sure I don't know." He deftly avoided my question. "This is your theory, remember?"

"I don't know," I prevaricated. "I told you it was stupid. I wouldn't have said anything if you hadn't…well, I don't know exactly what you did, but it can't have been very fair. You seem to have an unfair advantage in negotiating. It's not well done of you to use it against someone you're working with, you know." He listened to my inane chatter in its entirety before bursting into laughter. Every one in class turned to stare, including Ms. Hoskins, who was really glaring more than staring.

"_Shhhhhh! _" There! He'd done it. I was blushing _again_! Only this time, everyone was looking at me. Well, more precisely, they were looking at _him_, but being in his immediate vicinity, I could not escape notice. Most every one appeared merely curious, but Mary Ann looked out right irritated. _Crap_, I thought, _now she's really going to hate me_. I sighed.

"I'm sorry." His laughter trailed off, but the smile still lingered on his full lips. His eyes sparkled with genuine amusement, but there was no malice in them. "I wasn't laughing at you. I promise." He sounded sincere, but I couldn't suppress the skepticism in my expression. "Becca," he insisted, looking directly into my eyes. "I wasn't laughing at you. _I promise_."

"How do you _do_ that?" I demanded. How did he manage to project that intensity? How did he manipulate my will so easily? For, I now found that I could no more hold a grudge than I could hold water in my hands. The grumpy, misused feeling was already trickling away.

"Tell me, please. What do you think the prophecy could mean?"

I groaned and gave up. "I think maybe it's about redemption."

"Redemption for who?" he asked. He was so intently focused on what I was saying and thinking. It was as if we were discussing something much more important than a simple English assignment. It seemed very important to him, some how. And yet, he wouldn't offer his own insights, though I knew he had many. I had spent the better part of a semester watching him expertly dissect story after story, drama after drama. He knew more about symbolism and figurative language than I could decipher in ten lifetimes. Why was he pushing me so hard to figure this out alone?

"I don't know. It just says 'he.' So, I guess, a particular vampire." I was really just thinking out loud at this point, less concrete theory and more vague musings. "Well, if we operate under the theory that vampires are 'damned' and cursed and what-not, then maybe this means that a certain vampire gets offered a chance to be, I don't know, un-damned? That sounds lame."

"No, keep going, it sounds viable." I looked at him to determine if he was making fun of me, but to my surprise, he was busily writing down my ramblings on our paper.

"O.K. So, to be offered this chance, he would have to be pretty special, right?"

"I suppose, maybe." His tone suggested that he wasn't as optimistic about our imaginary friend as I was. "Or he could just be really lucky. Right place, right time and all that." His mood seemed to darken on this point. Almost as if he actually knew the fellow we were discussing, and didn't think very highly of him.

"No," I insisted stubbornly. "He's special." I said it with certainty and almost instantly was filled with the feeling that it was right.

"How can you be sure?" he whispered, not looking at me this time, but at a spot on the floor.

"I read the poem." He looked at me questioningly. "See, here?" I pointed out. "This is only offered once every thousand years. That in itself is pretty special. And here," I turned the paper toward him so we could both read it at the same time. There was only the slightest hitch in my breath when I looked up into his intense eyes. " 'One who walks in light defiant.' A vampire that walks in daylight would have to be pretty special. And here it talks about self-denial and sacrifice. Those are down-right noble qualities."

"Not noble," he muttered, "just well deserved punishment."

"What do you mean 'punishment?'"? I asked. "Why would he deserve punishment?"

"Well, I don't know," he sneered, although it seemed to be directed more at himself than at me. "_Vampire_, undead, creature of the night? Soul-less, blood-sucking-fiend damned to hell? I can't think of a single reason."

"Sarcasm is soooo unbecoming in one so young," I huffed. He surprised me again by bursting into uncontrollable laughter. "I ought to go on the road," I muttered. "I had no idea I was so terribly amusing."

"You're a gem, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise," he chuckled. His dark mood seemed to have been alleviated for the time being, however, so I didn't really resent his laughing at me, too much. I didn't understand it, but I didn't resent it either.

"I don't understand you," I blurted out. Did I mention that my brain-to-mouth filter seemed to be on the fritz?

"I know," he smiled, seeming not at all ruffled by my rude proclamation. "Back on task… what does our 'special vampire' have to do to receive redemption? And what, exactly, does he win if he gets it?"

"Well, the prize part is obvious," I began.

"Is it?" he quizzed.

"Well, yeah. What would someone with a noble bent who has lost his soul (due, of course, to no fault of his own, but rather to the atrocious act committed against him) want more than anything else? His humanity, of course!" I said it with conviction. I knew that I was right. I couldn't believe that Ian-the-brilliant could have missed that one.

"But would that even be possible?" His voice had once again lowered to almost a whisper.

"Well, only theoretically, of course," I offered. He looked at me with one eyebrow raised. "I mean, because vampires don't really exist, so this is really all just hypothetical." I wanted to make it perfectly clear that I was not crazy. I wasn't really buying into all this nonsense, just trying to make sense of a silly, old poem, because of the assignment. He didn't look convinced, merely amused again.

"Let's stick with the hypothetical, for now," he suggested. "We'll get into reality later."

"O.k." I agreed. "So, the hard question is: what does he have to _do_ to win the prize?"

"Mmm, that is the hard question, all right," he answered, but his tone sounded like he had been wondering that same thing for a lot longer than the last hour.

"Maybe," I began, but before I could really form the thought the bell rang, signaling the end of 5th period English.

"O.K. students!" Ms. Hoskins called over the racket of chairs being righted and the chatter that started in preparation for those all-important hallway conversations that had to be squeezed into our five-minute passing period. "We'll continue this assignment tomorrow, so make sure you bring back the poem and your paper!" Her voice lowered slightly as she grumbled, "And it wouldn't hurt you any to actually _think_ about it a little tonight, either." She didn't seem very hopeful on this point, however. Ms. Hoskins was not a delusional woman. I mean, it wasn't even _homework_ or anything.

"Becca?" I turned around from gathering my books to find Ian standing very close and staring intently into my eyes again. I couldn't figure out if he was always like this or if there really was some kind of message he was trying to send me and I just wasn't picking it up. It seemed to be pretty important to him.

"Yes?" I asked dreamily, but it wasn't really a question so much as blanket affirmation of whatever he wanted. I already knew that I would do what he asked. If I didn't, he would just use that unfair negotiating advantage again and I would end up agreeing _and_ looking stupid in the process.

"I think Mrs. Hoskins is right." Well _that_ hadn't been what I expected.

"About what, exactly?" My confusion was due in part to his vague statement, and the rest was entirely caused by the fact that he was standing so close and every time I tried to breathe, I would inhale the heady, spicy aroma of his…what? Cologne? It fogged my brain and made me forget what I was supposed to be saying.

"I think you should spend some time this evening working out the rest of the poem."

"I don't think so," I surprised myself by saying. I'm not sure how I managed to disagree with anything he suggested when he turned those thousand-kilowatt-eyes on me like that. His confusion was also evident in the frown that wrinkled his brow. He hadn't been expecting me to disagree any more than I had.

"Excuse me?" he asked, clearly baffled by my reaction.

"Well, I did all the theorizing today, so it's only fair that you do the talking tomorrow." My logic made perfect sense to me, but I could plainly see that this was not going according to his plans. _Why?_ I wondered. I was completely certain that he could have taught the class on this poem as well as Ms. Hoskins, so why was he so obstinate about sharing his opinion with me? I didn't think he would risk getting a lower grade by letting me do the whole assignment wrong, so I must be getting somewhere. But I really thought he would be more the type to take over the assignment than to surrender it. _If you want something done right…_ Yada, yada, yada.

He leaned in closer to practically whisper in my ear. "But I _like_ listening to you theorize."

"Um," I fumbled for words as goose bumps skittered down my spine. "N-no," I finally stammered. "You h-have to h-help, too." I could feel the frustration emanating from him. He huffed out a breath and suddenly changed tactics.

"Would you mind if I came over to your house tonight and we could work on it…_together_?" He made the last word into a breathy caress. It sounded so much more _intimate_ than studying should. What game was he playing? Was this some elaborate ruse to get out of the assignment? I couldn't believe that. For one reason, Ian was too smart to need to get out of it. It would probably take him less time to just do it alone. So, what then? Why would he care what I thought about some stupid English assignment? I was at a complete loss.

"Um, o.k. Sure…I guess that would be alright," I mumbled, not entirely sure what I was agreeing to.

"Great!" His manner suddenly lightened. He was smiling and cheerful, as if I had just promised to do his chores for the rest of my natural life. _What did I just agree to?_ "I'll stop by around seven, o.k.?"

"Uh, yeah…o.k."


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7 Chapter 7

**Study Date**

I made my way blindly to my locker and exchanged my things for my sixth period Geometry materials. I wandered into class and sat down automatically in the empty chare next to Janie . I was dying to tell someone about my strange encounter with Ian, but I wasn't ready to start sharing confidences with Janie. We ate lunch together and we had plans to hang out together tonight and work on our science papers for Mr. Lawson. However, Janie could not be considered a confidante. We weren't close enough for either of us to trust the other with potentially harmful disclosures. We were still in the trial phase of our friendship.

"What's wrong?" she whispered. I guess my confusion was still written plainly on my face, even as I tried to distract myself by actually paying attention to Mr. Hodge. It wasn't helping much. I looked down at the "notes" I was supposed to be taking and couldn't make sense of any of it.

"Nothing," I insisted. I hadn't even figured out, yet, what had happened. There was no way I was going to try to explain it to Janie. I mentally groaned. I was going to have to say _something_; I had to give a reasonable explanation for canceling our plans for tonight. "Um, Janie?" I began, hesitantly. "I kind of need to cancel for tonight."

"_Why_," she hissed. Janie does _not_ like being canceled on.

"Well, there's kind of this assignment that I have to work on for English." I hoped that would be enough to satisfy her. Luck was not with me today.

"Well, I'll come over and help and _then_ we can hang out," she countered.

"No!" I hissed, then back peddled, trying not to seem like I was avoiding anything, which I was. "I mean, it's a partner assignment, and my partner is coming over so we can get it done, and you would just be bored anyway, and I don't know how long it'll take…" I was babbling and I knew it. I was so hoping to distract Janie from the one disclosure that I didn't want her to pick up on, but that girl is like a bloodhound for information.

"Who's your partner?"

I gulped and stammered "Uh, just someone in class." Not good enough for Janie.

"Who?" she pressed.

"Ian McClaren, " I mumbled, hoping she would give up on trying to interrogate me in the middle of Geometry and I could escape before she could corner me after the bell. Again, where was my luck today?

"_Who?" _she demanded, and I saw my mistake at once. By trying to suppress the information, I had inadvertently made it even more tantalizing. _Great._

I sighed and gave up. "Ian McClaren."

"_Holy Crap!_" she hissed.

"I know," I whispered back.

Janie sat in a stunned silence, pondering, no doubt, the social ramifications of my spending an evening in the company of the most socially elusive person in the entire student body of Elkins High School, possibly event the whole town of Elkins (maybe even the whole state of West Virginia) for the rest of the period, and as I had hoped, I was able to escape the classroom before she thought to call me back. I was off the hook, for now, with Janie. Now I just had to figure out the incomparable Mr. McClaren.

After school, I dropped my things in my locker and went out to the parking lot. I stopped half way to the sidewalk out of habit, having almost forgotten my little VW bug waiting patiently for me. I veered back to the left and had to stop to stare at the car from across the isle. I did a little dance of happiness as I unlocked the door and dumped by bag on the passenger seat. As I backed out of the space and joined the queue of cars waiting to leave the parking lot, I noticed the black BMW pull out in my rear view mirror. I could barely make out the outline of Ian inside the car, but I could feel him glaring at my little car. I ignored him all the way to my house and he didn't stop when I pulled into the driveway. He kept driving and turned left at the corner to make his way back out to the main street. I went inside to do my homework.

Explaining the impending arrival of Ian to my mother was a hopeless endeavor from the outset. So I didn't try. The doorbell rang promptly at seven o'clock and my mother went to answer the door. I could see from her stance that she was preparing to fend off children selling fundraiser junk for a questionable organization. With Jenna house bound and my complete lack of dating, Mom wasn't deluding herself that this was a social visitor any more than Ms. Hoskins deluded herself about her students' enthusiasm about her assignments. But neither Ms. Hoskins nor my mother had accounted for Ian McClaren's lack of respect for the order of the universe.

"Good evening, Mrs. Taft," I heard Ian address my mom formally and I wanted to laugh. My mom was thoroughly convinced that manners were a genetic trait that had mutated out of the genetic code of my generation. "My name is Ian McClaren and Rebecca and I have been assigned a group project for English class," he suavely continued. "I was wondering if she might be available to work on it tonight. Of course, if I would be intruding…"

"No, no, no! Of course! Come in, please." My mom was practically drooling over Ian. "BECCA!!" She shouted, as if I was in the next town, rather than the next room. "She'll be right along," she gushed. "Rebecca Louise Taft!!" She shouted as I was rounding the corner. "So nice to meet _you _Ian. Can I offer you a snack or something to drink?" Coming up the hall behind her, I saw the smile twitch at the corner of Ian's mouth at the rapidity with which she was able to adjust her tone back to the gracious hostess. My mom clearly approved of Ian's presence. I only hoped she would manage to contain herself before she completely lost her head and asked him to move in.

"Hi," I mumbled. "Do you mind working in the kitchen?" I asked shyly. My mom had always had strict policies about teenagers of the opposite sex being unsupervised, regardless of the reason.

"Of course not," Ian began to concede gracefully, but my mother interrupted him.

"Oh, don't be silly, Becca! You guys won't get any work done with your sister in there. Go on up to your room and use your desk."

My mouth fell open in shock and I stared at the pod-person impersonating my mother in abject astonishment. She had never EVER allowed a b-o-y into the nether regions of our home before. My older sister Jenna had frequently had "study" dates before she had been allowed to officially date out side of the house. My mom would have killed her if she had ever been caught upstairs with a boy. Of, course, at sixteen, I had been informed that I was free to accept invitations, as long as I respected my curfew and my homework got done. That was an awkward conversation. My mom assumed that just because Jenna was pretty and popular and dated a lot that I would be the same. When I was still home every night, I began hearing lectures about not refusing to date as a way of distinguishing myself from my near-perfect sister. I finally had to sit Mom down and gently explain that I didn't date because no one had asked me out, not to slap at my sister.

"Who are you and what have you done with my mother?" I asked bluntly. I probably should have just kept that thought to myself, as I figured out when she pursed her lips and seemed on the verge of a defensive tirade. Luckily, Ian, also sensing impending doom, intervened to sooth her ruffled feathers and before I knew it, we were ensconced in my room, alone, with a tray of snacks and sodas and my sister's affronted screeches fading behind the closed door.

I was unsure what to do or where to sit. I had only one chair at my desk and sitting on the bed was absolutely out of the question. That would definitely send a weird message.

"I'll just run down to the kitchen for another chair," I offered. But, sensing my attempt to flee, he stopped me.

"Don't bother. You take the chair and I'll just sit here," he said, sitting on my bed and leaning back to lounge comfortably on one elbow. I nearly fell out of my chair trying to sit down. _Oh My God! Ian McClaren is sitting on MY BED!_ Janie would have a heart attack.

"O.K." I began, trying to sound casual even though my heart was trying to jump out of my chest. "So, it's your turn now. What do you think about the prophecy?" I could tell from his frown that he had been hoping that I had forgotten my little demand for equitable distribution of labor. His calculating expression said that he was now trying to figure out how to convince me. Uh oh. I didn't think it would take too much convincing on his part and I was a little embarrassed that he might actually discover that fact if he tried. Better all together if he didn't try.

"Look, I don't know what's going on with you," I began in a tone that brooked no argument, "but if you think that I'm going to sit here and do the whole assignment by myself, then you should just go on home and I will. Only I'll turn in my own paper with just _my_ name on it and you can do the same!" My threat was hollow. I knew I wasn't kicking him out. He might decide to leave on his own, but there was no way I was going to order him out of my room or my house. I just didn't want him thinking I was a total pushover. That would definitely set the wrong tone for the evening.

"Compromise?" he offered. "You tell me what you think, and if I disagree, I'll tell you what I think." He smiled, clearly pleased with his "compromise" solution.

"Uh uh." I refused. "That's the same thing and you know it. I'm serious," I stated, crossing my arms for emphasis. "Either you start sharing some of that vast wealth of brilliance you keep holed up in your brain, or I'm not sharing either. Now spill."

"Vast wealth of brilliance?" he mocked. "Let's be realistic." I remained silent. "Be reasonable," he cajoled. I didn't budge. Finally, he sighed and I sensed his capitulation. "Fine," he caved at last. "But you should know that I already agree with your assessment so far and I have no more insights on the rest than you do," he warned. "But I will… try… to be helpful."

I giggled at his petulance, and in my relief that I wouldn't be subjected to his "charm" again. That boy would make an excellent politician, or a salesman, or an actor for that matter. Or a-

My thoughts were interrupted by the discreet clearing of his throat and I realized that I had mentally wandered off again. And I was once again staring at him. I blushed and looked away.

"Don't do that." His soft request caught me off guard and I looked back.

"Do what?" I asked.

"Don't hide your blushes. They're endearing."

"You're teasing me," I accused, sure that he was making fun of me. But the sincerity in his gaze proved me wrong. "You're serious?" I asked in wonder. He nodded. How could he really be interested in me? I was nobody. Less than nobody, really. "Why?"

"Do you believe in any of that?" he asked, nodding toward the poem and our assignment on my desk.

"Poems?" I asked, confused again. He shook his head but hesitated to explain. "What?" I asked. Still, he hesitated. I turned sideways in my chair so that I could face him more directly. I looped my arm over the backrest of my chair and rested my chin on my hand to study him. I hadn't yet experienced this uncertainty in Ian. "You can tell me, you know. I won't tell anyone, if you don't want me to." He seemed to be struggling for words and this, too, was a new experience. Ian always seemed so secure in his words. He _always_ knew what to say and how to say it.

"Prophecies," he finally choked out. "Well, all of it really. Fate, destiny, prophecies, love-at-first-sight, meant-to-be. All of it." He seemed relieved to have said it, but still uneasy. I chose my words very carefully.

"I suppose it would depend," I began cautiously. I stood and moved to sit beside him on the bed. It felt right, companionable, like we were…friends…maybe close friends…maybe something more someday.

"I think that things like love at first sight are possible for some people, but not for everyone. That's what makes it so special, right? If everyone fell in love instantly and it lasted forever, what would be the big deal? It would be passé…common…ordinary. As for fate or destiny or what ever you want to call it, I don't know if I believe or not. How could you ever know if your life is how it is because of fate, or because of the choices you made? Or did you make those choices because you were destined to? It just goes round and round. I guess you just have to believe or not and trust that it really doesn't matter much if you're right or wrong." I felt like I wasn't making much sense.

"And the prophecy?" he asked again.

"I've never really thought about prophecies as real things. I just always thought of them as plot elements in fairy tales and Greek myths." His expression tightened. I could tell he was disappointed. "Do you? Believe it, I mean?"

"I didn't…" he said, but it sounded like he wasn't so sure anymore.

"Did something change that?" I asked

"You." His eyes lifted to mine and I gulped.

"But, I didn't…I'm not…_what?_" I stammered.

"Meeting you has made me believe that things like destiny might actually be real." We were both leaning in, whispering conspiratorially.

"Why?" I breathed.

"I think…you might be mine."

"Oh," was all I could manage. "Are you…I mean, do you…um…are you trying to say that…you know…you…uh, l-…um, l-like me?" His puzzled expression smoothed into a smile and he chuckled softly. When I tried to turn away to hide my embarrassment, his hand shot out to gently cup my cheek and turn my face back to him.

"_Becca,_" he sighed. "Do you really think I would base my _destiny _on something as mundane as 'like'? Don't you think that would be a tad anti-climatic?"

"Ian, you don't even know me." This was the most insane conversation I had ever had. _Destiny_? He had to be teasing me. I was sure he thought he was being amusing, but he had managed to hit a weakness of mine. I had a horrible vision of me leaping into his arms and proclaiming my own feelings for him, only to have him push me away and say "Whoa! Calm down, I was just kidding." I knew it wasn't possible for someone like Ian to _love_ someone as insignificant as me. I didn't think he was an innately malicious person, but whatever game he was playing would only end up hurting me. "I'm not up to this," I whispered.

"Up to what?" he asked.

"I don't know how to play these games," I sobbed. "I'm not Mary Ann, I can't flirt with people and make them believe things. I think you're a decent person. I don't think you're trying to be mean. But this is insane! Please!" I begged, "Don't drag me into this."

"Becca!" he gasped in shock. "Do you really believe that I would play games with you? That I would try to manipulate your emotions for my…what? Amusement?" He was angry now and he began to pull back, physically and emotionally. He turned and stood to pace restlessly in the cramped space between my bed and the closet. My cheek was suddenly cold in the absence of his touch. "I know you don't trust me completely yet, but I didn't think you supposed me a complete cad." I was taken aback. I was appalled to think that I had offended him. The last thing I would want would be to make him feel like I had just accused him of making me feel. My head began to spin with all of the unexpected twists my day had taken.

"Ian?" I whispered, and I could feel the tears begin to sting my eyes. I kept my eyes on my hands clenched in my lap. "I'm sorry. Please, don't be mad. I just don't understand you. Nothing about this makes any sense."

"No, I'm sorry," he sighed. He stopped pacing and stood facing away from me, rubbing his hand over his eyes tiredly. "I've made a mess of things. I should have done this better. Becca, I wish you could understand, then this wouldn't be so hard." He stood gazing unseeingly out the window.

"What do I need to understand?" I asked.

"I…I can't…it is not for me to explain." He turned to face me and his eyes implored me to trust him. I frowned at the strange formality of his answer. It didn't make sense. "Please, don't ask me. I would tell you if I could, I would. I'm not free to tell you."

"So, what exactly _are_ you telling me?" I wanted a few things clarified. Namely: how did he feel about me?

He sank back onto the edge of the bed beside me and gently cradled my hands between his. He waited until I looked up before he answered and I thought the silence would suck all of the oxygen from the room.

"Becca, I feel a connection to you. I've felt it since the first time I laid eyes on you. I can't explain it. I just know that you are intensely important to my future. I think you might feel something similar?" I nodded. He reached up and wiped the swell of a single tear from my lower lashes before it could gain enough momentum to fall. "Maybe not as extreme, but something. I wish you could trust me enough to take a chance. No games, no suppositions, no ulterior motives. I won't pester you if you don't feel anything for me, but if you do…"

"If I do…?"

"How about if we just take it one step at a time?" he suggested reasonably. "We'll see where the journey takes us, without any pressure for a destination."

"So, what does that mean, practically speaking?" I asked. "Are we…like… _dating?_"

"I suppose, if you want to label everything, then yes. Dating will work as well as any other word." I wasn't sure if I was happy with that answer or not. "But you should know that I don't know how casual I can be about this relationship." That answer sounded promising. "I'll do my best, but casual is going to be a difficult concept for me. I may tend to over-do-it a bit at times, and you may need to remind me not to suffocate you." _Definitely more flattering_, I thought.

"I think I'm fine with that," I tried to sound casual, but ruined it at the end when my voice squeaked and I had to cough out the last couple of words. His smile, this time, didn't make me self-conscious. I felt, instead, as warm as the first day of summer, when the sun doesn't just kiss your skin, but sinks into it all the way down to the marrow of your bones. When it's difficult to remember a rainy day, let alone a snowstorm. I felt like I could do anything in the world.

Oh, what a difference a day makes!

"Now," he changed the subject with an ominous tone and his face became serious. "Let's talk about the car."

I grinned at him. This was one argument I had no intention of losing.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8 Chapter 8 The Morning After

I awoke to the strangest feeling. It was like waking from a dream, only to find that I couldn't tell if I was really awake or just dreaming that I was awake. I wasn't sure what was reality and what was the wild conjuring of my imagination. I could see the poem and the assignment paper sitting on my desk, so the assignment was definitely real. I was hesitant to actually look at the assignment. What if there was only one name on the paper? What if it was covered in my own scrawled handwriting, instead of his scrupulously neat penmanship? Was I prepared to give up the dream for reality? Not just yet, I decided. I wanted to wallow for a little longer in the warm fuzzy feelings I could still feel coursing through my veins from the evening with Ian. I turned resolutely away from my desk to gather my personal items and headed across the hall to the small bathroom.

The steam from the hot shower tried to sharpen my fuzzy brain into wakefulness, but I fought against it. I replayed the events of the previous evening over and over in my head the way my sister replays romantic scenes from her favorite movies.

I sighed as the water started to cool. The hot water heater had obviously reached its capacity, signaling that I was out of time for daydreaming. I shut the water off, wrapped a thick, fluffy towel around myself, and stepped out of the tub. I used my hand to wipe a clean space in the center of the fogged mirror so that I could see my face. I carefully and objectively examined my features. My wet hair was artificially darkened from my shower, but I knew that when it dried, it would fall in loose curly waves to the middle of my back. It was brown, but not precisely just-brown. When the sunlight glinted on it just right, a rainbow of hues- brilliant golds, fiery reds, and warm, rich chocolates- would all vie for dominance. I decided that I liked my hair. _One check in the plus column, _I thought.

My blue-gray eyes framed with a dark fringe of lashes were pretty, I suppose, in an unremarkable way. At least having dark hair meant that I didn't need to worry about darkening my eyelashes or eyebrows. _Count that as a plus, too_, I mentally added. The smattering of freckles that bridged my nose and scattered across my cheeks were an annoyance, but not to be helped. My stubborn skin refused to tan, but instead, seems to have decided that the best way to _look_ tan is to produce freckles in close enough proximity to each other so as to appear to be solid color. I sighed. The freckles had been fine when I was ten, but now that I was sixteen, I had so hoped that they would magically begin to fade and I would suddenly appear as a mature, sophisticated personage with smooth, golden skin that was _not_ prone to excessive blushing. Someone that members of the opposite sex might admire, respect…notice. I sighed. _A check in the minus column for the rebellious skin_. My nose didn't help matters either. It was a _cute_ nose. Not elegant, or beautiful, but _cute_. It looked like the kind of nose seen on toddlers peddling grape juice in commercials. Nope. It was not the nose of a legendary beauty. _Another minus for the toddler nose._ It was a draw. I was okay at best. Not hideous, by any means, but completely ordinary. Hopeless.

"It must have been a dream," I sighed. I gave up and assigned my interlude with Ian to the realm of make-believe and the result of eating too close to bedtime (as my mother would say). "But, it was a _good_ dream," I reassured myself. If you're going to give your imagination free reign, it's nice to know it could at least come through with good material.

I rushed through my morning routine but hesitated at actually putting on the clothes I had grabbed on my way into the bathroom. _Will this look all right?_ I wondered, then snorted in self-disgust. Since when did I worry about what my clothes look like? I snorted at my reflection one more time for good measure before tugging on the jeans and sweater and dragging my still damp hair back into a ponytail.

Back in my room, I shoved my papers back into my backpack without looking at them. I had decided that reality could wait until I got to school. The kitchen was already deserted when I went down for breakfast. _Wow!_ I thought, _I must really be late._ I hurriedly gulped down half a glass of orange juice while waiting for my toast to pop up, then slathered the toast with some butter and ran out the door, trying to balance my toast and backpack and lock the door at the same time.

I dashed to my car in the driveway and piled in, throwing my things onto the seat next to me. I broke every speed limit between my house and school, praying hopelessly for an empty parking place that wasn't in the back forty. I managed to find a space only halfway to nowhere, grabbed my things and ran for the building.

I made it to school with only a few minutes before the first bell, and of course, my locker refused to open. I was going to be late after all. After unsuccessfully trying the combination of my locker for the sixth time, I felt my frustration begin to boil over. _Damn!_ I gave in to my irrational impulse and engaged in a full-fledged tantrum. I yanked and rattled the lock and kicked the door and let out a noise somewhere between a cry and a scream, rather like a teakettle letting off steam. Finally, I calmed and allowed myself to feel the remorse for my behavior and the accompanying relief that at least no one had been in the hall to witness it.

"Did that locker do something to offend you?"

I felt the blood drain from my face, and then rush back in a heated flush of embarrassment as I recognized the voice and realized who was standing behind me, and had been throughout my entire tirade. _Ian_. I groaned and leaned my forehead against the cool metal of the locker door. "Mm hmm," I mumbled.

"Do you mind if I ask what, exactly, it did?" he asked and I could hear the humor in his honey smooth voice. "I would hate to make the same mistake."

"Won't open." I was still mumbling. Technically he shouldn't have been able to hear me, let alone decipher the incoherent jumble issuing from my lips.

"Would you allow me to intervene in the interest of humane treatment for educational equipment?"

"'Kay." I slid sideways to allow him access to my locker, without exposing my red face to his keen eyes. I was now standing with my nose barely an inch from the locker two down from my own.

Ian cleared his throat and I glanced sideways through my lashes to see that my locker was now standing obligingly open.

"How did you do that?" I asked. He hadn't even asked me for the combination. He shrugged in answer, which is to say that he didn't answer at all and seemed to have no inclination to do so. He took a tiny step back to allow me to get into my locker and leaned casually against the locker next to mine, watching me. I shivered, perpetually unnerved by his presence.

"Are you upset with me?" he asked. I froze. _What should I say? No, of course not. I'm just trying to figure out if I hallucinated a conversation in which you professed your love for me and proclaimed me to be your destiny._ _Right!_

"N-no," I finally stammered. "I'm n-not upset with you."

"Then why aren't you looking at me?" His question sounded reasonable enough. I dropped the book that I had been holding suspended in the air onto the shelf and slowly turned to face him. Finally, I raised my eyes to meet his, unsure of what I would find when our gazes ultimately met. Mine was wary, his seemed the same.

"Hi," I whispered.

"Hi," he answered with an accompanying smile.

"Thank you…for fixing my locker," _and for not thinking I'm crazy._

"You're welcome."

I smiled and relaxed. This wasn't so hard.

"Can I walk you to your first class?" he asked, ever the gentleman.

"I'd like that," I smiled. He took my books from my hands and turned, gesturing for me to proceed. I shut the locker door and we walked companionably down the corridor.

"Do you have your phone with you?" he asked out of the blue.

"Yeah, why?" I asked, puzzled.

"Let me see it, please?"

I fished the new pre-paid cell phone out of my purse and handed it to him. He studied it for a moment, then began punching in several numbers. He seemed to be following on-screen instructions for something. Suddenly he held the phone in front of my face.

"Say my name," he whispered. I complied, confused, and he took the phone back. He punched in several more codes then gave me back the phone.

"What was that?" I asked.

"I programmed my cell number into your directory and set it as your speed dial number 1. Your phone also has voice recognition capability so if you just say my name it will automatically dial for you. That way you don't have to look at the keypad if you need to call me while you are in your…_car_." He said the last with an air of distain, doubtful if my little bug qualified for the title.

"Thank you, I think. Why, exactly, am I going to need to call you from my car? The phone is just for emergencies, you know. I won't be making very many calls, if any."

"I know," he said, "but if there is any kind of problem at all, I want you to call me right away. I don't want you out somewhere by yourself and trying to change a flat tire." I think my face must have shown my growing irritation at his lack of faith in my little car, because he held his hands out to me the way police negotiators in the movies always do to the crazy person with the bomb.

"It's just a precaution. I know you can change your own tire," he placated, "I'm just worried about the serial killer who might be sneaking up behind you while you're fighting with the lug nuts." He had a point there. "Promise me you will call me and stay in the car with the doors locked until I get there?"

I thought about that seriously for a minute. That was a pretty big promise to make. It meant I would have to rely on him more than on myself, that was a pretty big step for me. I wasn't used to relying on anybody but myself, and occasionally my best friend. Crying on Ian's shoulder was one thing, but cowering in my car while I waited for him to come and change my tire was a little too "damsel in distress" for me.

"I promise that I will be very careful and I won't take any undue chances when I am by myself." I thought I had covered all of the possibilities with that promise. Ian seemed to have realized it too.

"Becca," he began, but I cut him off.

"It's as good as you'll get today," I warned, "so quit while you're ahead."

He sighed dramatically in defeat and left me at the door to Chemistry class with a smile and a promise to see me fourth period. I was fighting hard not to giggle like a complete ditz.

I entered the class and skulked across the back and up the far isle to my seat at the lab table that I shared with Janie. Mr. Lawson didn't seem to have noticed me arrive and I was fine with that. I would rather explain why I was marked absent for one class than have him call attention to my entrance in front of the entire class.

"You're late!" Janie hissed.

"I know, my locker stuck," I explained.

"Who was that you were walking with," she asked suspiciously.

"Ian," I said bluntly. There didn't seem to be anything I could possibly add to that so I left it alone. The silence that followed was so un-typically Janie that I had to look to make sure she hadn't had a stroke or something and was lying unconscious on the floor. She wasn't on the floor, but I might not have been that far off on the stroke theory. Her mouth was hanging open and she was starting to turn blue, as if she had forgotten to breathe.

"Janie," I hissed. "For God's sake, breathe! Calm down, already. He just helped me with my locker and then offered to walk me to class. It's not like he proposed or anything! Get a grip!"

"Are you _together?_" she demanded. "When did this all happen?" she continued before I could answer. "Is he your _boyfriend_? Did he call you his _girlfriend_? Are you going to Prom together? Did he kiss you? Is he a good kisser? I bet he's a good kisser. _Well? _ Is he?"

"Is he _what?_" I asked, frustrated. How did she expect me to answer any question if she didn't stop peppering me with more?

"_Is he a good kisser?!" _she demanded.

"How would I know?" I answered. "I haven't exactly had a chance to find out yet. He's…sweet." I knew it wasn't the juicy detail she was digging for, but it was the most that I was willing to share just yet.

"That's it?" she asked, disappointed. "So, did he ask you out?"

"Not exactly," I hedged. Technically, he didn't ask me _out_ so much as he implied he loves me.

"Well, are you dating or not?" I thought about Ian's answer to that same question and I smiled. If I answered Janie the same way, would she be insulted? Probably.

"Yes," I said simply. She really didn't need all of the chaotic details, any way. She turned back to the front of the classroom with a smug look on her face. Why did I have the feeling that me being involved with Ian McClaren would turn out to be a boost to _Janie's_ social status?

I only had class with Janie for Chemistry and Geometry, so when the bell rang I had four and a half blessed hours without interrogation. And I had Drama with Ian to look forward to. Janie wasn't silent, however. I could tell from the curious and disbelieving glances and murmurs following me down the hall between classes that Janie had started the wheels of the rumor mill going and it was building speed.

Conversations abruptly ended when I walked into the girl's bathroom or a classroom. The sudden hiss of whispers erupted behind me as I passed groups of students in the hall. I had become more than famous: I was notorious.

Many of the looks aimed at me (particularly those of the cheer set) were distinctly malevolent. I could understand how they felt, of course. Ian was fresh blood, virgin territory, the girl to stake her claim on that mountain would have secured her place in Elkins history for generations. And here I was, a nobody in their eyes, usurping the spoils that should have gone to someone more important. I didn't really care what they thought, as long as Ian didn't either. I didn't think he did. He was so vastly different from the other students at Elkins High. He seemed to have his priorities set on a different scale. He didn't seem to worry so much about popularity or dating or coolness. He wasn't worried about what colleges he would get into. He didn't seem to know that football even existed, and in Elkins, West Virginia that was practically a cardinal sin. He completely disregarded those things that seemed of life and death to most teenagers. I wasn't quite sure what to make of him yet, but I was looking forward to figuring him out.

Drama class was perfect. We had almost finished our reading of Romeo and Juliet. Mr. Carter kept stopping us to elaborate on parts that were difficult to understand, or where language usage was unfamiliar to the class so it had taken us considerably longer than a straight through reading would have. Ian kept looking at me meaningfully, which kept causing me to blush. Everyone in class was starting to snicker at us. Mr. Carter was even beginning to get annoyed. When Ian recited Romeo's lines to his beloved, and apparently dead, Juliet, there were a few girls in class wiping away tears. When we finally finished the play, just before the bell, a rousing cheer went up from the entire class. Everyone was chatting animatedly as we exited for lunch.

I expected Ian to leave me at the cafeteria, as usual, but instead he followed me in. I was confused, but pleased. He followed me through the lunch line but didn't pick anything up until we reached the end of the line.

"Jello!" he enthused. He was as happy as a little kid. "I like this!"

"Is that all you're eating?" I asked, shocked when we reached the cash register without him picking anything else. He just shrugged. I started to pull out my wallet, but he brushed it aside, a ten already in his hand to give to the attendant. He took my tray and led the way to a table in the corner that was half empty. He set the tray down on the table then turned and held out a chair for me. I blushed at his courtly manners and sat down. He sat down in the seat next to me and turned so that he could play with my hair while I ate.

"So why the sudden burst of socialization?" I asked. He looked at me and raised one eyebrow in that superior way of his that always divided me between irritation and sentimentality. "Why are you eating in the lunchroom today?" I asked.

"That's where you are," he said simply. I blushed. I didn't think I would ever get used to the way he spoke so bluntly. We spent the rest of lunch talking quietly about nothing too important, just talking. He never really stopped touching me in one way or another. When he wasn't playing with my hair, he was running his fingers absently over my hands or my back. I could practically feel the eyes of the entire cafeteria on us, but I didn't care. I found I had no appetite for meatloaf: my stomach was already full of butterflies. I ended up throwing most of my lunch away, which earned me a scowl from Ian.

When we walked into English class, I didn't even try to go back to my old seat, but went immediately to the empty seat next to Ian. He turned sideways in his desk to face me and leaned across the narrow isle. He laid his arm across my desk and took my hand gently. His skin was smooth and soft, the muscles beneath it like steel. Touching Ian was like touching a sword sheathed in velvet. He idly toyed with my hand, tracing each of my fingers. His long fingers trailed lightly up the back of my hand, sending little shivers of awareness up my spine.

"How did you sleep last night?" he asked, still playing with my hand. He looked up at me through the veil of his eyelashes and I suddenly had the feeling that discussing my sleeping habits was embarrassingly intimate.

"Fine," I whispered, blushing at the implication in my own thoughts. I was glad that Ian couldn't hear what I was thinking. "You?"

He shrugged. "Same as always, better dreams." His smile was crooked, lifting one corner of his lips. He gave the distinct impression that the reason for the "better dreams" had something to do with me.

"What kind of dreams?" I asked. I knew I was fishing for compliments, but I didn't care. I wanted to hear him say he was thinking about me as much as I was thinking about him. I couldn't ever remember my dreams (other than the reoccurring dream that I had from time to time) but lately, I always woke up thinking about him. I figured I was probably dreaming about him, because it always made me wake up happy.

He shrugged, and it was probably just as well that he didn't answer because that was when the bell rang and Ms. Hoskins started class. She told us to take out our assignments and to continue working on them with our partners. While I was digging out the poem and our paper from yesterday, Ian angled his desk closer to mine. He leaned in so that when I turned back toward him we were almost nose to nose. I blushed and turned slightly so that there was slightly more room between us. My pulse was thumping nervously and my breathing had accelerated. I momentarily forgot we were in a crowded classroom and all I could think about was leaning back into him and-

"Becca, Ian," Ms. Hoskins's voice rang warningly across the room. "Get started, please!" I shook loose the almost hypnotic fixation on Ian's eyes and looked down at the paper. I was surprised to see how full it was. I hadn't remembered getting that far yesterday, and we hadn't actually written anything last night. Now it looked like the assignment was almost completely finished. I looked up at Ian questioningly. He winked at me.

"Ms. Hoskins?" he called softly, still smiling at me as if he was about to get away with something. Ms. Hoskins wound her way through the groups of desks to the back of the room where we were sitting.  
"What is it Ian?"

"We're finished," he said and my mouth fell open. Ian kicked me under the desk without taking his innocent eyes off of Ms. Hoskins. I took the hint, closed my gaping mouth, and tried to adopt a similar expression of innocent academic interest.

"Let me see that," she demanded, clearly disbelieving. "Hmm, well…wow, guys. Good work!" She was surprised but pleased. How did you get done so fast?"

"We worked on it last night," he lied smoothly. I narrowed my eyes at him. I was a little uncomfortable with outright lying to a teacher. Partly because it was innately disrespectful, partly because I tended to be a terrible liar. "May Rebecca and I go to the library for the rest of the period? She has a book to return and I want to see if they have gotten my reserve in yet." The lies just kept rolling off his tongue with an easy aplomb that I found disturbing. _Politics_, I decided, _definitely politics_.

"That would be fine. While you're there, would you mind seeing if they have this book? I've been waiting for it for a while." She scribbled the title of a book on a scrap of paper and handed it to Ian.

"Of course, it's no problem." He smiled at her, grabbed his books and mine, and was halfway to the door before I could gather my scattered thoughts enough to realize that we were being excused from class in the first five minutes. He was waiting for me at the door, looking impatient. I opened my mouth to question him but the infinitesimal shake of his head reminded me that we were not out of the woods yet. We were still right outside the door, with other classes to pass without being caught. I harbored no illusions that Ian really wanted to go to the library for the rest of class. We were ditching, plain and simple.

He reached down with his free hand to take mine and urge me to hurry up. I was practically running every other step to keep up with his long strides. We went out of a side door and skirted the building to the student parking lot. We hurried to his car, still not talking. I didn't feel safe from detection until the doors closed around us, blanketing us in the deep shadow of the dark tint.

"Whew!" I breathed. "Okay, splain please."

"Beg your pardon?" he asked, the picture of innocence.

"Please explain all that baloney about us finishing the paper last night, and the book reserve, and why we're supposed to be in the library right now, but instead we're camped out in your car." He was grinning unrepentantly.

"Did you really want to stay?" he asked simply, and I had no acceptable response except the truth.

"No."

"Then just say 'thank you' and enjoy the next hour as a mini-vacation." I smiled.

"What do you want to do?" I asked.

"I thought we'd go someplace quiet and talk."

"O.K." I breathed. I felt a blush riding on my cheeks and tingles of awareness rippling down my spine.


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**The Truth**

We went through the drive-thru of a fast food restaurant and Ian ordered me a drink and some fries. I tried to insist that I didn't need anything, but he flatly refused to listen. He insisted that I wasn't eating enough. I argued that missing lunch once in a while was hardly going to kill me. He gave me such a dark look that I gave in. When he didn't order anything for himself, I dug out my wallet to give him the money for mine, but he glared at me until I took the hint and put it away. _Okay,_ I thought, _he's an old-fashioned kind of guy. Got it._

We drove north, past the neighborhood where I had purchased my car, to where the forest started in earnest. There was a little park area at the start of a trail and he pulled into the graveled parking lot and stopped. It was a little cool for a picnic, so we sat in the car while I munched on my fries. Ian watched me thoughtfully, as if observing the eating habits of a chimpanzee. It was a little off-putting.

I finished my food and then dug out a mint from my purse. I didn't want McDonald's breath to ruin a perfectly lovely moment, if that moment should happen to occur.

"Becca," Ian began and I nearly swallowed my mint. "Have you given any thought to the discussion we had last night?"

I hesitated. I had been thinking about nothing but that conversation, but somehow I didn't think that was what he really meant.

"Which part, exactly?"

He smiled. He could probably guess what part I was thinking of. I hated being so obvious.

"The part about the prophecy."

Well, being predictable was not a problem for Ian. The poem assignment was not what I had expected him to talk about here, alone.

"I'm stumped," I admitted. "What are you talking about?" I was starting to feel like "What are you talking about" was becoming my byline.

"Becca, do you remember when I said to stick to the hypothetical?"

"Yes."

"Hypothetically, if the prophecy were true, how would the…"

"Vampire?" I supplied.

He smiled. "Thank you…vampire in question go about fulfilling it? Remember the lines about the girl? About her gift that saves him? How would a vampire, who falls in love with a human girl, convince the girl to fall in love with him, knowing what he is?"

"Hypothetically?" I asked skeptically. He nodded. "Well, for starters, why are you presuming she is human? Maybe she is another vampire." He was shaking his head in denial before I could even finish my sentence.

"Innocent blood, remember? She is an innocent, probably in more ways than one, I'm betting." It took a minute for his implication to sink in. Then my face colored in embarrassment. Luckily, he wasn't looking at me, but staring at his hands on the steering wheel.

"Okay," I allowed. "So if she's human, wouldn't he just be able to do that hypnotizing thing that vamps always do in the movies and make her fall in love with him?" He was shaking his head again.

"Love's first gift, given while

Free of deceit and free of guile.

Gifted in love, accepted in truth

Only then will soul be loosed."

He quoted the poem perfectly, I was sure. His honey smooth voice turned the words into a caress and I found myself leaning towards him having made no conscious decision to do so.

"Do you have a photographic memory?" I asked, distracted.

"No, why?"

"How did you…? Never mind. Okay so he has to tell her the truth, then," I concluded. "He is just going to have to suck it up and tell her the truth and have faith that she will love him for who he is, not what he eats."

"What if she can't accept the truth?" he asked somberly. "What if she thinks he's crazy?"

"There are ways he could prove it to her," I offered. "He could show her his fangs, or he could…um…Oh! He could bite something. Not a person!" I blurted at his horrified look. "Just, like a rat, or a cat or something. Although, that might be a little gross. Well," I sighed, exasperated, "what else do vampires do, besides drinking blood?" I was running out of options. How would you convince a skeptic you were a vampire, other than doing that which makes a vampire so unique?

He didn't answer, he just sat with his eyes closed and his head hung.

"Maybe just telling her is enough, maybe she doesn't actually have to _see_ proof, as long as he was honest."

"What if she believes him?" If possible, he sounded more distressed by that possibility than if she didn't believe him.

"If she believes him, then doesn't that solve the problem?" He shook his head.

"What if she is scared of him, or disgusted by him? What if she thinks he's a monster and wants nothing to do with him?"

"Then she doesn't deserve him." He looked at me, unconvinced. "Ian, if she can't accept him for who he is and love him the way he is, then she is not the one for him. It's not his fault he is what he is," I insisted. "He was made that way. If he is trying to do the right thing, and he doesn't hurt people, then who is she to judge? It's like saying you won't date someone for being Catholic, or black, or for having a broken arm."

"Well," he chuckled. "It's not exactly the same thing. I doubt the Catholic boy would be tempted to tear open her throat and drink her blood if he was feeling a bit peckish."

"_He would NOT!_" I fumed, defending my imaginary hero. "He wouldn't hurt her! He loves her! He wouldn't kill the one he loves for an _afternoon snack_!"

"Becca," Ian said sarcastically, "he's a vampire! That's what he does! What do you think he eats? Even if he doesn't kill people for food, he still needs their blood. Sure, he can get it without actually attacking anyone, but that wasn't always the case. Before there were blood banks, he would have had to actually bite people. That isn't the kind of instinct that just goes away." I looked at him in shock.

"Blood banks?"

"Yeah, blood banks." He raised one eyebrow in that insufferably superior way of his. "A guy's got to eat, Becca."

"Wow," I said flatly. "A vamp who takes blood from a blood bank. I never considered that."

"Come on, Becca. It's not like there's a blood isle at the supermarket on the corner. Where else would he get it?"

"I don't know," I huffed. "But he shouldn't just take it from sick or hurt people who need it."

"Oh," he said and the sarcasm died from his voice. He smiled now, a genuine smile. "What if he doesn't take it? What if he buys it from people who specialize in supplying for vampires?"

"Really?" I asked, intrigued. "Who would do _that_?"

"Well, Becca," he said, as if stating the obvious. "If vampires are real, then someone has to provide services so that they can remain secret, right?"

I mulled that over for a while. "I guess so," I finally allowed. "Why did you want to talk about that?"

"There's something about…me…that you should know. You have a _right_ to know, if we are going to be together.

"Tell me," I said and I braced my self. I didn't look at him, but stared unseeingly at the windshield and the gray blanket of clouds beyond it. I clenched my hands in my lap and waited for him to tell me whatever had prompted him to ditch school and bring me to the middle of nowhere to talk about the dining preferences of the undead. I was remembering a theory that I had once heard for delivering bad news: Make up a lie that is worse than the truth, then when you tell the truth, it isn't as bad by comparison. I was now wondering what could possibly be so bad that Ian felt the need to begin by discussing methods for acquiring consumable human blood.

"Tell me," I insisted again when he remained silent. "Whatever it is, just say it. I can deal, really. Just tell me straight out." He still remained silent.

"Are you dying of cancer? Were you in jail for murder? Are you an internet con artist who takes money from old people? What is it?" I was becoming frantic, his silence unnerving me more than his imminent revelation possibly could. I looked at him from the corner of my eye. His whole body radiated tension. His hands were clenching and unclenching. He kept opening his mouth as if to begin, only to shut it again.

"Ian?" I questioned. I turned to him. He was obviously distraught. I reached out to touch his cheek. He turned to look at me, desperation in his eyes. Slowly, I shifted in my seat to lean toward him. "You can trust me," I whispered.

I leaned closer, and he did the same. We were only a breath apart. I could smell the spicy-sweetness of his breath fanning my face. I could feel his eyes probing my own, searching for reassurance. I tilted my head slightly and pressed my lips to his. I let my eyes drift closed as his hand slid into my hair, cupping the back of my skull and adjusting the angle of the kiss. His other hand gently caressed my neck, his fingers grazing the pulse point that beat erratically against my skin there. He sucked in a shaky breath, let out a soft groan, and deepened the kiss.

I shuddered when I felt his tongue glide along the seam of my lips, teasing. I gasped in pleasure and he took advantage of my parted lips to press further. My world focused in minutely on the movement of his lips and tongue and hands. He began to explore my mouth, tempting me to follow suit. Hesitantly, shyly, I touched my tongue to his, slid it along the length of his. He caught my tongue and sucked on it gently. I moaned and his hands tightened on my head and neck. I let my head drop back, gulping in air. Undeterred, his kisses slid down the line of my jaw to the hollow behind my ear. I felt his teeth delicately graze my skin and shivered, momentarily reminded of the subject of our earlier conversation. I couldn't think straight. I couldn't think at all. My whole world was comprised of the feel of his mouth on my neck and his arms sliding around me to crush my body to his. His hands roamed over my back, one going up to the back of my neck to position my head at precisely the right angle, the other sliding down to my lower back, pressing me closer.

Abruptly, he pulled away and I felt abandoned, cold and drifting in the sea of emotions rushing over me. I was panting, trying to catch my breath. My vision finally focused and I looked at him.

He, too, seemed shaken. He was leaning against the car door, his head lying back on the head rest and his eyes closed. His hands were fisted on his lap and he seemed to be muttering something to himself, though it didn't sound like English.

"Ian?" I whispered. I heard the low oath he uttered. "I'm sorry," I whispered. Tears were beginning to well up in my eyes. "Did I do something wrong?"

"_Wrong?"_ He sounded angry. I turned away so he wouldn't see the first few tears that escaped before I could stop them from falling. "_Wrong?_" He seethed. Then he laughed humorlessly. "Wrong. No, Becca, you didn't do anything wrong. Everything that is wrong is all on me." I couldn't bring myself to look at him.

"It's okay," I mumbled. "I understand. Could you please take me b-back to s-school now?" I was desperate to get away before I lost control completely and started bawling again. That would only embarrass us both.

"No," he said grimly. "I haven't told you the truth yet. That's what I have to do, right?" His tone was bitter and resentful. "Even if you think I'm crazy, or disgusting? I have to tell you the truth."

I waited.

"The truth, Becca, is that I am your worst nightmare. I am the thing that goes "bump in the night." I am the monster, and there is no excuse for my existence. I am everything that you should be afraid of and you are in danger right now, just being alone with me."

"What are you talking about?" I asked tiredly. "Ian, if you don't want to be with me, you just have to say so. You don't have to try to scare me off. I won't go all Fatal Attraction on you." I sighed, disappointed that it had all ended so abruptly. My first kiss. What a disaster.

"Becca, I want you to listen very carefully to me." He still wasn't looking at me, but his voice had taken on an intensity that sent chills down my spine. "I am not making anything up. I am not crazy. I am not trying to scare you off, although if I did, it would only be to protect you. What I am doing, is being incredibly selfish to ask you to risk your life to be with me."

My heart stopped; just for a second. I forgot to breath. "Risk my life how?" I breathed.

"Becca, the bad guys are real. Monsters are real. I'm one of them." He turned to look at me and his eyes burned feverishly.

"Ian, th-this is…is…Oh, my God. What _are_ you?" I could feel fear welling up in my chest and I fought to suppress it. Ian reached a hand toward me, but seemed to think better of it and dropped it to the consol between us. I stared at his hand, strong hands that had fought to protect me. Then I looked up into his deep, penetrating eyes. He always seemed to see more clearly than I. He always seemed to be able to talk me into or out of anything, as long as I was looking into his eyes. I quickly shifted my gaze lower.

His lips were pressed into a taught line. The pale skin on his cheeks was tightly drawn, emphasizing their sharpness. I reached out my own hand and placed it on his chest, over his heart, but there was no answering "thump". There was no rise and fall of his chest to accompany breathing. The minutes ticked by in silence. Only my own labored breathing and the pulse rushing in my ears relieved the stillness.

"What are you?" I repeated. I thought I was sure what he was trying to convince me of, but I needed the words. I needed his affirmation. I needed him to _tell_ me the truth.

"Vampire," he whispered. I could feel the tension rolling off of him in waves. He was ready for my reaction. He was ready to spring from the car if I should run screaming in terror. He was braced to accept any blow that I felt the need to deal him. He was a man preparing himself for any possibility, save one.

"How old are you?" I asked softly.

"Eighteen," he answered, surprising me.

"So young," I sighed. "When were you born?"

"Eighteen eighty-one."

"When did you die?" He hesitated. "When?" I asked again, still staring at my hand on his chest.

"Eighteen ninety-nine."

"Where?"

"Ireland."

"Who was it?" He looked at me questioningly. "Was it a woman that did…this…to you?" He nodded. "Did you love her?"

"No!" was his adamant reply.

"Tell me about her."

"She was…beautiful, seductive, evil. She used her beauty and her powers of …persuasion… to lure me into the dark one night, away from safety. I was young and drunk and a beautiful woman was trying to seduce me. I was stupid."

"Are you going to kill me?" I asked bluntly.

"No!" he nearly shouted. "Becca, how could you think that? After all that I've told you? After I told you how I feel about you, how could you think I wanted to kill you?" I could feel his body practically vibrating with tension.

"I don't," I answered calmly. "But I had to ask. If you are harboring any desire for my blood, I think it's best if we get it out there now."

He was quiet for a long time. I waited.

"I won't hurt you," he said finally, and I didn't miss the subtle distinction between my question and his answer.

"You are harboring a desire for my blood?'"

"I won't hurt you," he insisted.

"_Ian_," I warned. He reached out to me, his fingers tracing the planes and angles of my face.

"Becca, you are my destiny, I'm in love with you. But I can't change what I am. Your blood calls to me. I can hear it coursing through your veins. I can see the subtle jump in your throat where your pulse throbs. I enter a room and your scent is like a trail enticing me to follow, to hunt. Every instinct I possess is pushing me to taste you. Every instinct except the one that pushes me to protect your life with my own. That is the one that compels me. The rest is just the urge to survive. I have other ways of surviving. If I hurt you…" he stopped, and I held my breath. "I would cease to be. I _can't_ exist without you."

I took a shaky breath and exhaled slowly. "Okay."

"Okay, what?"

"Okay, I believe you."

"What do you believe?" he asked, almost desperately. "Okay, you believe I'm a vampire? Okay, you believe I love you? Okay, you believe I won't kill you? What?" He sounded frazzled.

"Yes," I answered. "I believe it all." He looked at me searchingly. His eyes probed mine.

"Do you trust me?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Do you love me?"

"Y-yes," I whispered, my breath hitched.

He leaned toward me slowly, giving me plenty of time to refuse. His hands gently cradled my head and his eyes stayed on mine as he lowered his lips to mine. "I love you," he whispered against my lips. He kissed me softly, sweetly. It wasn't nearly as heated as the kiss we had already shared, but the underlying current of emotion brought tears to my eyes. Slowly, he ended the kiss and pulled back slightly.

"When's your birthday?" he asked, in the same serious tone. I stared at him uncomprehendingly. "When?" he persisted.

"June eleventh," I answered, confusion written clearly on my face.

"You'll be, what? Seventeen?"

"Yes?"

"That doesn't leave much time," he muttered, no longer talking to me. He had focused inward, on some secret dilemma.

"Time for what?" I asked, already expecting that he wouldn't answer, and I was right. He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. He drove back to school distractedly. I wished I could read his mind, to see what was weighing on him so heavily.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

**Twenty Questions**

"Tell your mother to expect me tonight at seven." The instruction (I tried not to think of it as an order, although that's exactly what it sounded like) was delivered as we pulled back into the parking lot of school.

"Why, exactly?" I asked, instantly suspicious. I was dimly aware that there were only a few minutes left of our fifth period. It seemed like so long ago that we had dashed across the parking lot together. Could it really have been less than an hour?

"You need to introduce me and I need to speak to her."

"You've already met my mother," I reminded him.

"Becca," he sighed. "You have to _introduce_ me formally and I need ask your mother permission to see you socially."

I rolled my eyes at him. "Ian, don't you think that's a touch out of date?"

Unoffended, he gave me a serious look and said only, "Trust me."

"Okay," I sighed. I knew I surrendered easily, maybe too easily, but I could sense that this was important to him.

We snuck carefully back into the building. My nerves were jangling but Ian was cool and relaxed. He walked me to my locker and opened it for me. I eyed him critically for a moment, tempted to remind him that I could open my locker by myself, before remembering that my locker seemed to hate me anyway. I smiled brightly at him, which seemed to catch him by surprise. He had clearly been expecting a different reaction.

"Thank you," I said graciously. I traded my English books for Geometry, flicked the door closed and spun the dial on the combination. We turned and headed down the rapidly filling corridor toward Mr. Hodge's class. A wave of students coming from the other direction briefly separated us. It wasn't a big deal, but a moment later I felt my hand locked in an iron cage and looked up to see Ian eyeing the group distrustfully. I smiled. It was kind of nice to have someone be that cautious of me. I couldn't ever remember that happening before.

When we arrived in the doorway of Geometry class, the seats were almost completely filled. Janie had saved me a place, as usual. I smiled at Ian and started to enter the room, but he still had my hand and he used it to gently pull me back.

"What is it?" I asked. Then I noticed the gleam in his eye. He was definitely planning something. He leaned down, as if to kiss me.

"_Not here!_" I hissed. He just smiled and brushed his lips lightly across mine.

"I'll meet you here after class," he whispered in my ear before turning away. I didn't miss the mischievous smile on his face. I turned back to the class to find every eye in the room trained on me and several mouths hanging open in wonder. My face flamed. I ducked my head and scuttled as inconspicuously as I could to my seat.

I was a tad put out. I just knew that this was one of Ian's plots. He didn't seem to do anything without a reason. That little show was deliberate, I knew, I just didn't know why.

"Wow," Janie breathed.

"You don't know the half of it," I mumbled under my breath.

Mr. Hodge cleared his throat noisily and a few students actually turned from staring at me to face the front. Janie peppered me with questions all through class. I only answered when I could get away with a "yes" or a "no" answer. I didn't trust myself to say more.

"_So?_" she hissed in impatience

"So what?" I asked, but I had a dreadful feeling that I knew what she was asking.

"Is he a good kisser?" she smirked at me. I hesitated; this conversation was getting down right awkward. "Don't you dare think of holding out on me!" she warned. "You can't claim he hasn't kissed you. We all just saw him!" I glared at her, trying to warn her off. Janie is nothing if not persistent. "Is he?"

"Oh, yeah," I sighed, memories of our two kisses in the car causing my pulse to speed up and my breath to catch. Janie noticed the dreamy look on my face and sniggered.

"Wow! He _must_ be good." She concluded. "You're half gone!" She chuckled at my confusion. "You'll be using the big L-word in a month, tops!"

My face flamed. _Oh, Janie, if only you knew!_

"When are you seeing him again?"

"Tonight," I whispered.

"It's a school night," Janie reminded me. "Your mom's letting you go out?"

"Not exactly," I hedged. She glared at me again. Janie was not going to let me get away with that vague answer. I sighed and gave up. "He's coming over; he wants to talk to my mom." She looked at me quizzically. I raised my eyes at her and nodded my head at her, willing her to put the puzzle together for herself so that I wouldn't have to suffer the indignity of spelling it out.

"_Really?_" she gasped, and a few heads turned our way. I smiled at them and pretended to be listening to Mr. Hodge. Janie just ignored them all together. Suddenly she seemed to be choking. I turned to check to see if she was okay, and discovered she was choking on her own laughter. She was trying desperately to stifle her giggles, to no avail.

"Miss Connors?" Mr. Hodge called. "Are you quite all right?"

"Yes sir," she choked out. For once, her face was redder than mine. She managed to compose herself enough to make it through class, but she kept sniggering at me every time that she glanced my way. It was very distracting.

"Janie?" I asked casually. "Would you like a ride home today?" _That_ got her attention. She stopped smirking at me and was looking at me carefully. She seemed to be trying to decide how serious I was.

"You got a car?" she whispered. I nodded, smiling.

"Yes, yes, yes!" she whispered as enthusiastically as one can whisper.

"Meet me at my locker after you drop your stuff in your locker." I hesitated for a moment. Janie needed to be warned, I just wasn't sure how she would react. "Janie? You should know…" I hesitated again and she looked at me. "My car…it's kind of…Well, it's just hideous," I finally gushed out. "It's hot pink with lime green flames. And it looks like Krylon." Janie looked like she might burst into giggles again, but she wisely held it in. "I'm going to have it painted," I pointed out. "It'll look really good when it's done, but right now, it's a real piece of work."

Finally the bell rang at the end of 6th period and Janie and I joined the flood of students pouring into the hall. We separated to go to our lockers at opposite ends of the hall and I waved to Janie. I turned toward my own locker and found Ian waiting for me, leaning casually against the lockers. He smiled at me and held out his hand. I returned his smile and took his hand. The mass of students seemed to part easily for Ian. I wondered if there was something to do with his "otherness" that caused people to avoid irritating him. I would have to remember to ask him that later.

Ian waited with me at my locker until Janie joined us. Apparently he had already been to his own locker before meeting me at Geometry. When Janie joined us, introductions were a little awkward. I wasn't quite sure how to introduce Ian. Should I call him my boyfriend? That just seemed so juvenile for Ian. After all, he hadn't been a juvenile himself for a very long time.

"Janie, this is Ian. Ian, this is Janie." Not exactly Emily Post, I know, but it was expedient. Janie and Ian exchanged banal greetings and we moved off through the thinning crowd toward the front door. Ian was holding my hand again and Janie was walking on my other side. She kept sneaking me sly glances, but was waiting until we were alone to say anything.

When we got close enough for Janie to see my car, she stopped dead.

"Oh my God, Becca! What did you do?" Janie's shock and horror were unmistakable. I smiled at Ian; he looked smug.

"Still want a ride home?" I asked.

"Um, sure, I guess." She was definitely rethinking the upside of walking.

I unlocked the door, untroubled by Janie's lack of vision. She climbed into the passenger seat and tried not to be obvious about watching Ian kissing me goodbye. He stepped closer and I took and automatic step back, only to find my back pressed to the driver's side of my car. He smirked and leaned in. This kiss was not the gentle brush of lips that he had left me with outside class. This was closer to what had happened in his car. I could feel every nerve ending tingling with awareness. My hands rose to his chest of their own volition and curled into fists in his shirt. I had completely forgotten that we were standing in a very public place and I hadn't even noticed that Janie was no longer bothering to pretend not to watch. The only thing that I was aware of was Ian's lips on mine and the soft touch of his fingers grazing my cheek and neck.

Ian eased the kiss down a few notches and started to pull back. It took me a couple of minutes to catch my breath and for me to become aware of my surroundings. I dragged my eyes open to see that Ian was still leaning over me, his arms braced on my car, forming a cage around me. His eyes were burning intensely. I nearly swooned. I had to remind myself to take deep (if shaky) breaths.

"Don't forget to tell your mother to expect me." I groaned and forced my hands to unclench and release his shirt. In point of fact, I had forgotten, and I was hoping that he had also. No such luck. The twinkle in his eye suggested that he was fully aware of that fact.

"Oh fine! I'll see you at seven." I was already picturing my mother's face when Ian sat in our living room and asked permission to "court" me. I was preemptively mortified. I wouldn't go through it at all, except that it seemed to be so damn important to Ian. He smiled in understanding, leaned in for one more quick kiss, then turned to get into his own car, two spaces away.

I sighed and turned to get into my car. Janie was staring at me with her jaw hanging open.

"You're catching flies," I told her. Her jaw snapped shut and she turned to stare blankly out the windshield as I backed out of the space and joined the line of cars queuing up to leave the parking lot.

"Well," she huffed. "I guess he _is_ a good kisser." I smiled.

"Yeah, he is."

I dropped Janie at her front door with a promise to call her later and let her know how the "Meeting" went. Janie's house was in the opposite direction of mine so I had to turn left back out onto the main street and drive back past the school. Ian's car was still in the parking lot and he pulled out right behind me as I passed the parking lot exit. He followed me home and I smiled at his tenacity. He had given up on trying to talk me out of driving my car, but he wasn't ready to trust the little bug yet. I wondered how long he was going to go out of his way just to follow me home. _Oh crap!_ I thought suddenly. _If Ian talks to my mom about the car, they'll have something they agree on!_ I could only hope that Ian's agenda for tonight didn't include complaining about my car.

I pulled in the driveway and deliberately ignored Ian as he drove past my house to turn down the block. If he was determined to make his point, then I could, too. I unlocked my front door and went inside to start on my homework. Jenna was riding home with her friends and I knew she would stay with them for as long as possible before she had to come home. Mom wouldn't get home until after four. Jenna came strolling in at 3:45. When Mom walked in, I felt my stomach clench. I had to say something. She would be irritated if I waited until Ian arrived, the way I had yesterday. I took a deep breath. Then I took another.

"Mom? Can I talk to you for a second?" I tried to keep my tone nice and relaxed, but Mom was already starting to get that suspicious look on her face. Her Spidey sense must've been tingling. I almost laughed. She was more right than she knew.

"What's up, Becca?" Her voice was also a little too casual. She was breezing around the little kitchen, putting away her keys and starting to get things out of the fridge to start dinner.

"Well," I began carefully, "do you remember Ian? He came over last night to work on the English paper?" She nodded her understanding, but the skeptical look was stronger than ever. "Well, he sort of asked me-"

"Becca," she sighed. "You know you can't go out on school nights. I'm glad that he asked you out, but you're going to have to wait for a weekend. And not one soon, either. Not until this whole mess with the disappearances is cleared up."

"No, Mom," I quickly corrected. "He didn't ask me to go out tonight. He wants to come here…to talk to you." The last was mumbled barely above a whisper.

"He wants to talk to me?" she asked in surprised confusion. There was a deep frown line between her eyebrows. I don't know what she was thinking, but it didn't bode well for Ian. I almost smiled to myself. "What about?"

"I'm not sure," I mumbled. It wasn't exactly a lie. I didn't know what Ian was going to say, but I was pretty sure that I wasn't going to like it much.

"What time?"

"He said seven." She was still frowning.

"I guess I could push dinner back, but it will make everyone a little late getting ready for bed."

"No!" I almost shouted. "I mean, no. He didn't say anything about coming to dinner. I think he said seven to give us time to finish eating." The last thing I needed was to have to explain why Ian didn't eat anything. Mom looked at me, suspicious again. I tried to smile my best, "I don't know anything" smile.

"Okay," she sighed. She looked tired. I made a mental note to look up some really easy recipes on the internet and start helping out with dinner. Mom worked too hard to come home and spend all that time cooking. She looked like what she really needed was a nap.

Dinner was tense. Mom had made spaghetti and I was trying to eat without splashing any sauce on my blouse. I wanted to look neat, at least, but I didn't want to have to change my blouse. Ian would notice and I didn't want to have to explain why. I kept looking at the clock on the microwave, over the stove. I was so anxious that I was checking the time at three-minute intervals. I knew it was pointless and stupid, but I couldn't seem to help myself. It was as if Ian's visit was a giant pendulum swinging over my head and any second it would drop.

"Becca, stop it!" my mom snapped when I looked at the clock for about the fiftieth time. "You're going to make us all crazy. Just relax and eat your dinner." I blushed guiltily and ducked my head to continue poking my spaghetti around on my plate. I had only had a few bites, I was sure if I tried to eat any more I was going to be sick, I was so nervous.

After dinner, it was my turn to clear the table and wash dishes. I was re-wiping the same plate for the third or fourth time when Jenna finally took pity on me and shooed me out of the kitchen so she could finish the dishes.

"You owe me," she grumbled as I scrambled out of the kitchen and rushed upstairs to check my hair. I stood in the bathroom staring at my reflection and debating whether or not to borrow Jenna's makeup. I found myself picking up the lipstick on the counter, only to put it back down.

I finally spotted what I wanted on the counter, hidden behind about ten different colors of mascara: tinted lip gloss. The soft pink color was much more my speed than the sharp, vampy, red lipstick that Jenna prefers. I couldn't remember Jenna wearing the gloss, so I didn't think she would mind me borrowing it. I slicked on the delicate pink color and admired the results. It suited me and gave me an instant confidence boost.

Encouraged, I pulled the elastic band out of my hair and shook out the curls. They fell appealingly around my face and shoulders. The effect was pretty, but a little too much, so I pulled the front part back into barrettes on either side. Satisfied that I looked nice, but not over-done, I went across the hall to my room. I was pacing randomly around the room when I heard the doorbell ring. I froze. Then I panicked. I spared one quick glance in the mirror before flying out of my room and down the stairs.

"I'll get it!" I shouted. I came to a skidding halt at the door and struggled to catch my breath. Mom poked her head around the doorway from the living room and looked at me questioningly. She saw me panting and rolled her eyes.

"Calm down and open the door," she muttered before disappearing again.

I took one more shuddering breath, patted down my fly-away curls, and pulled open the door. He took my breath away again.

Ian was standing in my doorway looking absolutely perfect. He was wearing the same dark slacks that he had been wearing at school, but he had changed his green button-down shirt for one in a muted red tone, and he had left the top couple of buttons undone. I distinctly remembered his other one getting large wrinkles on the front after school and I blushed at the memory of what had caused that minor damage. His hair was carelessly tousled and my fingers itched to touch it. His full luscious lips were smiling patiently at me, letting me look my fill.

"Hi," I breathed.

"Good evening, Becca." His sultry voice sent shivers down my spine. I completely forgot, for a moment, why he was standing in my door, and just stood enjoying the view. "You look lovely."

"Thank you. Won't you come in?" Jenna would have laughed at my attempt to play gracious hostess, but luckily for me she was holed up in her room with her cell phone.

Ian took the step across the threshold and leaned down to kiss me softly. He stepped past me so that I could shut the door and I noticed the bundle he was holding.

"Flowers?" I asked

"For your mother," he murmured. I must have looked disappointed because he leaned down to whisper, "I left yours in your room." I smiled and blushed and couldn't wait to rush back upstairs to see if there were really flowers there.

"You know you're going to have to explain that later," I warned. He chuckled and nuzzled his nose along my jaw, making the most of this private moment.

"I look forward to it," he whispered huskily.

I preceded Ian into the living room where my Mom was sitting comfortably in her favorite chair: my grandma's old refurbished rocker. She looked up from her magazine when I walked in. I could feel the blush heating my cheeks. _Please_, I thought, _please let this go well_. I don't think I had ever been so wound up in my life.

"Ian," my mom stood gracefully to shake hands with Ian and to accept the cheerful mixed bouquet . "Thank you, these are beautiful. It's lovely to see you again. Won't you sit down?" Mom asked, gesturing toward the couch. Ian moved over to the couch opposite my mother's chair and pulled me to sit down beside him. "Becca, why don't you put these in water?"

I rushed to the kitchen, scrambled under the sink to find a vase that Jared had sent mom flowers in last Valentine's Day. I dumped the flowers in the vase and ran water in with them. I practically ran back to the living room and dropped the vase unceremoniously on the coffee table. I was just a bit out of breath when I joined Ian back on the couch, but I had been afraid to leave Ian and Mom alone for longer than strictly necessary. I don't think they had exchanged more than idle pleasantries before I made it back. Mom looked at me curiously when she saw her pretty flowers, now looking ragged in the vase. Doubtless, she was now wishing she had left them in the wrappings a little longer.

"What brings you over tonight? Another homework assignment?"

"No, no, nothing like that." He smiled blithely and returned her friendly comments easily. "I was hoping that I could speak with you on a more personal topic, actually."

"Of course, Ian. What's on your mind?" Mom was tense, but no one would notice who didn't know her. I watched her fidget in her inconspicuous way: crossing her legs, straightening the flowers in the vase, twisting the watch on her wrist. She finally settled back in her seat. She didn't know what to think any more than I did.

"Well, Mrs. Taft. If I may speak bluntly, what's on my mind is mostly your daughter." His easy smile never faltered, but my Mom's vanished without a trace.

"All right, Ian. Why don't you tell me what exactly you are wanting."

"Ma'am, I would like your permission to see Rebecca." To his credit, he managed to say that with a straight face. I thought my mother's head might explode.

"I think the permission you really need is Becca's," she pointed out, and I could have kissed her.

"With all due respect, ma'am, I believe Rebecca is amenable. I am a bit of an old-fashioned type, I know, but I would feel much better having your blessing." He looked down modestly and reached over to take my hand in both of his. My mom paled. The blood just drained right out of her face.

"Tell me you are _not_ discussing getting married." My mother's face was a study in abject horror.

"Mom!" I gasped. "Don't be melodramatic. Nobody's getting married!"

"Mrs. Taft," Ian's voice had taken on a hypnotic quality that I imagine hostage negotiators and animal trainers using. "Please don't misunderstand my intentions. I am very much enamored with your daughter, but sixteen is far too young for marriage." Mom seemed to relax just a little bit. "I am simply asking for your permission to…" he seemed to falter at the point of actually saying the word, "date your daughter." I could swear for a moment he had been about to say "court your daughter."

"Becca?" My mother's question caught me off guard and I turned to her, not entirely sure what she had asked me. "Well?"

"Well?" I repeated blankly.

"Sweetheart," she sighed, sounding exasperated, "do you have an opinion on this matter, or were you planning on an arranged marriage?" Her biting sarcasm made it difficult to answer with any kind of grace.

"Mom, I like Ian. If it's okay with you, I want to keep seeing him." I turned back to make eye contact with Ian. I wanted him to know that I understood what he was trying to do. "But he won't see me, if you say no." His slight nod told me that I had understood him correctly. I turned back to my mom and looked her straight in the eye. "So say, 'yes.'"


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

**Goodnight**

My mom seemed to be having some sort of internal debate going on. On one hand, I knew she probably wanted to blast Ian out of the water for going over my head like it was the sixteenth century, and part of me really wanted to see Ian's face if she did. But on the other hand, she could see how much I really liked Ian and she wouldn't want to embarrass me. Added to that the fact that he was just so damned sincere and the mental tug of war was finally won.

"Becca," she began carefully. "If _you_ want to see Ian, then _you_ have my permission." Nobody missed the emphasis she placed on her words, clearly bringing all decision making back to me, but it wasn't a "no" and that was the important thing. I hoped it would be good enough to satisfy Ian's sense of chivalry. I smiled at her and nodded before turning back to see how Ian was processing her answer.

He was dumbfounded. I giggled when his confused gaze met mine.

"That means "yes," Ian."

I could see him still struggling to accept that as easily as I had. Finally, he seemed to conclude that he wouldn't get any more of an affirmative and he should be happy with what he did get. His wrinkled forehead smoothed out and he smiled wryly at me.

"Thank you, Mrs. Taft. I don't suppose that you would allow Rebecca to go for a drive with me tonight?" He didn't sound hopeful. I held my breath.

"You suppose correctly," she answered briskly, clearly irritated, but still impressed with his old-fashioned ethics. "It is a school night. Maybe on Friday," she grumbled.

"Thank you, Mom!" I beamed at her. "You're the best. Can I walk Ian out?"

"All right, just don't be too long, young lady." She smiled, softening the warning. Mom definitely remembered what it was like to be young, unlike so many parents. Maybe it was because she was in a fairly young relationship with Jared. She understood how it felt to be really wrapped up in someone, but not yet sure of them.

Mom stood to shake hands with Ian.

"It was lovely to see you again, Ian. I expect we'll be seeing a bit more of you from now on."

"Yes, ma'am," he grinned, accepting her hand. He was clearly pleased with the way the evening had turned out. He didn't even seem overly disappointed that we couldn't go out. Mom turned and walked to the kitchen and I could have kissed her for even the illusion of privacy. Ian took my hand and we walked to the door. I thought he might kiss me goodbye, but he surprised me again. He tugged my hand and pulled me outside to the old swing hanging on the porch.

My hand was still on the door knob and it was pulled after me so that it was almost closed before I managed to let go of it. Ian caught it and shut it silently, then pulled me to sit on the swing. I curled up against his side and his arm went around my shoulders. Ian gave a gentle shove and set the swing into motion.

"Are there really flowers in my room?" I asked, smiling as much in relief as excitement over the flowers.

"Of course," he smiled.

"And how did they get there?" I asked. He smiled sheepishly.

"I wanted to surprise you, so I went in through the window." My mouth dropped open in shock.

"You could have fallen!" I gasped. He chuckled.

"Not likely."

"Someone could have seen you," I scolded. He laughed again.

"Again, not likely. If anyone managed to see _me_ then I deserved to get caught."

"So you can just come and go, whenever you want?" I wasn't sure if I was impressed or irritated. The thought of him being able to just waltz into my private space any time was a little unnerving. "I thought you needed, like, an invitation or something."

"I had one,' he answered easily. "Your mother invited me in yesterday."

"So," I clarified, "you just have to be invited once and it's good for always?"

"Unless…" he hesitated.

"Unless?"

"Unless it's rescinded."

"So, if I wanted to, I could un-invite you?" He frowned and nodded.

"Good to know," I said. He looked at me sharply. "Not for now, of course, but just in case you ever _really_ irritate me." I was only teasing him, but I regretted it instantly when I saw the hurt and disappointment cloud his face.

"Ian, I was just teasing you," I assured him. "I wouldn't rescind your invitation. You can come in anytime."

"Tonight?" he asked and my breath caught.

"You're already hear tonight," I breathed. I could feel my pulse pounding at the very thought of having him alone in my room.

"Later?" He was toying idly with my hand, his other occupied with my hair. "After your mother and sister are asleep? I could come back." He was so casual, I almost missed the edge in his tone. I realized he was only pretending calmness. I'm sure if he had a heartbeat it would be as erratic as mine was.

"Are you serious?" I asked quietly. "Do you really want to come back?"

His eyes met mine and they seemed to burn with intensity. "I don't think I can stay away," he whispered. He framed my face with both of his hands and leaned in to kiss me. I closed my eyes in anticipation. I could feel his warm breath fanning my lips but he hesitated. I opened my eyes and raised them to his. He was looking at me expectantly.

"I'll leave my window open," I sighed. He smiled and finally brought his lips down to meet mine. I sighed again as if I was dying of thirst and had finally been offered water. He crushed me to him and my arms wound around his neck of their own accord. I moaned when his lips traced a fiery trail down my cheek to my jaw, then further to the hollow beneath my ear.

He groaned suddenly, and it was not a sound made in passion, but in frustration. I opened my eyes to realize that my mother had switched on the porch light: a not so subtle hint that it was past time for me to go inside.

"I'll see you in a little while," I promised before slipping inside. I said my goodnights to Mom and floated upstairs. I gasped as I opened my bedroom door. The vase of roses on my nightstand was amazing. It was at least two dozen beautifully blooming red roses.

I smiled. I could feel the happiness welling up inside me, threatening to burst from the ends of my skin. I only had to wait a couple of hours for him to come back.

I started to get jittery again, my relief from earlier fading with the realization that I had no idea what to do with Ian once I got him here. I didn't think he expected anything much seeing as my mom would be just down the hall, but still…

I sighed and sat down on the bed to call Janie as I had promised. She picked up on the first ring. Obviously she had been waiting by the phone.

"Spill," she ordered as soon as she picked up the phone. Janie had a private line in her room and her parents had installed Caller I.D. for her last birthday. She had since developed the rather disconcerting habit of skipping the social niceties. It still freaked me out a little and she had been doing it for over a month now.

"Um, hi, Janie. It's Becca." I felt like a total idiot stating the obvious but it had become such an ingrained habit that I couldn't seem to stop myself.

"Yeah, I got that." Janie's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "So? What happened?"

"Oh, boy," I sighed. "Well, it went fine, I guess. Ian came over and asked my mom for permission to date me." I smiled to myself remembering how he had faltered over the word "date."

"And what did your Mom say?" she demanded.

"Well, at first she looked like her head might explode. My Mom has some pretty strong ideas about women making their own decisions. Which is what makes this whole Jared thing so weird. She was so frustrated that I was letting Ian be all formal and old-fashioned, but when Jared's around she always just goes along with whatever he says. It's so frustrating."

"So? Let's have the deets!"

"Janie, there really aren't that many details. Ian came over. He asked my mom if he could date me. She asked what I wanted. I said 'yes, please.' He kissed me goodnight, and went home." I could hear Janie huff in disappointment.

"That's really all?"

"Well, he did bring me flowers."

"Ooh, spill!"

"About two dozen red roses!" Janie's vicarious excitement was infectious. "They're beautiful!" Janie sighed.

"He's _so _sweet!"

"Yeah, he is. Listen, Janie, I've got to go take care of some chores, but I'll see you at school tomorrow. O.K.?"

"'Kay. Night, Becca!"

I hung up the phone, gathered my personal things and rushed across the hall to the bathroom while Jenna was still downstairs bugging Mom about what ever she wanted to do that Mom was prohibiting. I was starting to wonder if they were ever going to get along like normal again.

I took a hurried shower, toweled off, and dragged on my pink striped pajama pants and matching t-shirt. I dried my hair as much as I could with my towel, then carefully brushed out the tangles and gave it a little drying boost with the hairdryer. I debated using Jenna's make-up but I knew that would be really obvious since I had just taken a shower.

I was getting really nervous again. I had no idea what to expect from Ian tonight.


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

**The Invitation**

"Not again!"

I sighed. The faster I hauled my butt up to the cottage the faster I could get out of this travesty of a _dream_.

I started trudging up the hill to the cottage and banged on the door with my fist.

"Hello! Anybody home?" I already knew the answer to that one: excepting the few bizarre twists lately, there was _never_ anybody at home.

"Hello? I'm apparently stranded here! I could use a phone! Or a shrink," I muttered to myself.

Suddenly, I heard the unmistakable sound of the latch being turned. The door was finally being answered!

"Oh! Thank God!" I gasped. Maybe I was finally going to end the torment of the endless cycle!

The door eased open and the man who stood there gazed at me through tired, but still vividly blue eyes. I gasped. "Ian!" But I immediately knew that was wrong. This man was older, in his fifties. His dark hair was shot through with gray and the wrinkles around his eyes told the story of a life well and fully lived. This was a face that had known much laughter and no small amount of worry. The resemblance was unmistakable, however. "I'm sorry," I began. "You look just like someone I know."

He smiled, unperturbed by my rudely blurted comment. "Come in, Rebecca," he invited and the way my name rolled off his honey smooth tongue sent shivers of recognition up my spine. Was I dreaming of Ian as an old man? That was impossible. Vampires don't age. My subconscious was running amuck again with wishful thinking.

"Thank you," I started to decline. "But I don't –"

"Come in, Rebecca," he insisted. "We need to talk, you and I." His accent was stronger than I had remembered. His grip on my arm was strong, too, as he led me into the sitting room. The furnishings were the same as the last time I had entered, when I had the nonsensical warning from the elderly lady. I sat hesitatingly on one of the squashy arm chairs. He relaxed comfortably into the other.

"I'm sorry, but how do you know my name?"

He smiled. "Child, I have watched you your whole life. I have watched you grow up. I am Emon McClaren. I believe you already met my wife, Colleen?"

I stared at him, dumbfounded, for several moments before the memory of the last bizarre dream popped obligingly into my memory.

"Oh, right, your wife. Well, isn't that just _tidy_?" I muttered. "Okay, hit me."

"I beg your pardon, miss, but I don't hit young ladies." He was looking at me with confusion and some offense wrinkling his brow.

"I meant," I sighed, "tell me what ever incomprehensible message you are here to deliver so I can wake up already. Isn't that how this works?" He still looked confused. "You give me some crazy sounding message from my subconscious that I have no idea what to do with, then I get to get out of here and go back to normal, dreamless sleep."

"Sweet, oblivious child," he chuckled. "I come with no message. I only wanted to meet you and to find out what you could tell me about my son." I stared at him blankly. "My son, Ian," he clarified. My jaw hit the floor. _Of course Ian was his son!_ I could have slapped myself. That was why this stranger bore such an unmistakable likeness to Ian. I was dreaming of his father, or at least my subconscious's version of his father.

"Oh, _right_," I said, skepticism clear in both my expression and my tone. "Ian's _father_, of course, that makes sense. Well, _Dad_, what do you want to know?" I could feel the rudeness rolling off of me but I didn't care. My patience with this dream had long since evaporated and I was starting to feel like a prisoner in my own head.

His own manners did not desert him, however, and he was polite and courteous to me without fail.

"How is he?" he asked, and the sincere emotion in his voice started to break through my irritation.

"He's fine, I guess. I haven't known him very long." The feelings of guilt over my bad behavior were warring with my childish need to throw a tantrum. My mother's efforts paid off in the end, however, and I gave in to the earnest, apparently kind-hearted man in front of me. I answered his questions to the best of my ability, though there were more times that not when my answer was simply "I don't know." I felt bad for him. He seemed so concerned. I began to feel genuine compassion and affection for him. His mannerisms and expressions were so completely the image of his son (or I guess it was the other way around, really) that I couldn't help myself when I felt my heart begin to open to him. I had grown up without my father, now I was beginning to wish that this funny, sweet, intelligent man could be my dad.

"You should go," he finally sighed. "He'll be waiting for you. For all his fine qualities, my son is not a patient man. Unless that's changed since I knew him?" he raised his eyebrow in such perfect imitation of Ian that a smile tickled the corners of my lips.

"I'm afraid not," I answered and he shrugged and sighed.

"He gets that from his mother, always so impatient!" He stood and walked me to the door. I was startled when he pulled me into his arms for an affectionate bear hug. It was so paternal that I felt the tears sting the backs of my eyes and blinked, trying to clear them. "Be safe," he admonished.

"I will," I promised, though his warning meant no more to me now than his wife's had before.

I turned from the doorway and stared around the countryside. It really was rather pretty. The simple pastoral setting rolling gently as far as the eye could see was so different than the wild and sometimes dangerous mountains at home. The forest, excepting the one time I had tried to enter, held no fear for me. There were no shadows lurking to ambush me today. It was just a forest, quiet, lonely, dappled in sparkling sunlight and cool, lush, calming shade.

I stepped off the stoop and headed toward the forest. I had no idea what would happen now. I had always woken up before I had to try to figure out how to get out. I stepped into the cool shade under the canopy and headed in the general direction of the stream. I could hear it bubbling softly not too far off.

I reached the little brook in no time and sat down on the bank. The muted sounds of the forest eased the tension in my muscles and I relaxed, breathing in the moist, earthy smell of the woods.

The sound of a twig snapping startled me out of my dreamy stupor and my body instantly tensed. I jumped to my feat and spun around to face the person approaching me from behind.

"I'm sorry," she smiled. "I didn't mean to frighten you." She was standing no more than ten feet away from me, frozen in place as if not to scare away a nervous animal. I had the distinct impression that the nervous animal was me.

"It's a lovely day, isn't it Rebecca?" I was getting a little tired of imaginary people knowing my name. Unlike Ian and his "father," however, I didn't like the way this stranger said my name at all. It clanged from her lips like the discordant clamor of an out of tune piano. As if she was trying to be sweet, but was so out of practice that the notes rang false in her sugary voice. She was beautiful, blonde and petite. Her clear blue eyes were wide and innocent, a quality that made me instantly suspicious.

"May I sit with you?" she asked politely.

"I don't think that would be a good idea," I answered cautiously.

"Why ever not, Rebecca?" she gushed. "I just want to talk for a little bit. We have a mutual friend. I was hoping that we could be friends, too." She blinked at me in doe-eyed innocence. I didn't buy it for a second.

"And who would be our mutual acquaintance?" I asked casually while trying to subtly shift my weight in preparation to run.

She giggled girlishly. It was annoyingly fake. "Why, Ian, of course!" she laughed.

"Of course," I smiled back. "That makes sense; all of my weird dreams seem to revolve around Ian. So, who are you supposed to be?" I asked. The annoyance that I had tamped down for Ian's father was back and multiplied.

"Can't you guess?" she simpered.

"Games, huh?" My posture and voice were radiating distain. I have no tolerance for stupid girls who think that they can play the "I'm dumb but pretty" card and that everyone else is stupid enough to fall for it. This chick had an agenda. I just had to find out what it was. "Let me guess, ex-girlfriend? Am I supposed to get all jealous and insecure now?" I snorted. "First of all, Ian is a big boy and he makes his own decisions. If he didn't want to be with me, he wouldn't be. Secondly, as _old_ as he is, all his ex's are either prunes or dead, not much competition there. So, which one are you?" I could see that I had struck a nerve with the "old" crack.

"Actually," she continued in her sugary sweet voice, though her eyes had narrowed. "Ian and I go way back." She was starting to get her smug attitude back. I didn't think that was a good sign. Turns out I was right. "You might say, I made him the man he is today." She smiled smugly, as if she had just made an inside joke to someone who was clearly on the outside.

"You mean the _vampire_ he is today, right?" The smug satisfaction disappeared from her face as quickly as it blossomed on mine. "Oh yeah, he told me all about you. So answer me this: Does that make you, like, his _mom_?" Her lips pursed in anger and her narrowed eyes began to redden. It was subtle at first, then I noticed it more prominently. Her eyes were actually glowing.

"You little insect!" she growled. "You're too stupid to even see that he's using you!" I wanted to pretend not to care about the trash she was shoveling, but that remark hit a little to close to home. I flinched. She was delighted. "Oh yes!" she gushed. "Did he tell you about the prophecy?" She could see from my expression that he had. "Did he tell you that you are the key to the whole thing? He _needs_ you. He doesn't _want_ you, just needs to keep you around until you can solve his little _problem_ for him." She smiled sympathetically. "I know, honey. It's harsh, but I wouldn't tell you the truth if I didn't _care_ about you." I believed that about as much as I believed that I was going to win the lottery. She stepped closer. "_We_ could still be friends, you know. Men are so untrustworthy! What a girl really needs is a reliable girl friend to talk to. I could be that for you. We could be the best of friends." She continued to creep closer, so slowly I wasn't sure what to do. If she was a vampire, like Ian, she could run me down easily. No, she was after something else here.

"All you have to do is say the word, and I can make you like me," she continued. "I can make you beautiful, and strong, and immortal. You can have any man you want." I could feel the hypnotic rhythm of her voice working its way into my nervous system, lulling me into a stupor. I fought against the pull of her voice and her eyes that seemed to have locked onto mine like a homing beacon. "He'll be crawling at your feet, begging you to take him back." I noticed she had come much too close without me noticing. I tried to take a step back, but there was no where to go: the stream was right behind me and she was too close to attempt to skirt around her.

"No," I whispered. "I want to wake up now," I protested.

"Sure, in a minute," she soothed. "Just stay a little longer." She reached out and twirled a lock of my hair around her fingers. I could feel her breath fanning my cheek. I could feel the adrenaline rushing through my veins, preparing my body to fight. I couldn't help noticing the bizarre similarities to the night of the Halloween Dance. Only this time, my would-be attacker was a petite blonde monster instead of a six-foot tall football star. And this time, Ian wasn't there to save me.

She leaned in closer so that the tip of her nose just barely brushed the skin of my neck. I shuddered in revulsion. "Let me go," I demanded, though my voice didn't come out nearly as authoritative as I had hoped.

"Are you sure about that?" she asked, her voice husky in my ear.

"Very sure." I was pleased at the strength in my tone this time. "You're not my type." She pulled back a little and looked at me with a doubting smile.

"Your type?"

"Yeah, I don't really go for cheap, slutty, and obvious." She hissed and I caught a flash of extended eye-teeth – fangs. Her hand shot out and backhanded me across the cheek. I stumbled sideways and caught myself against a tree. She advanced, eyes blazing, and grabbed my throat. I struggled to pry her steel grip loose. I gasped for breath and felt everything around me begin to fade.

"Ian!" I gasped, sitting bolt upright in my bed. He was there in an instant, his arms surrounding me and crushing me to his chest.

"What was it?" he soothed. "Bad dream?"

"I don't dream," I gasped.

"Shh, calm down. You're shaking like a leaf." He tipped my chin back and gently brushed my hair out of my face, searching my eyes. "I'm here, you're okay." I took a deep breath, inhaling his unique fragrance and felt the calm begin to seep into me. He brushed his lips over mine, and then again. "Better now?" I nodded and smiled half-heartedly.

I snuggled deeper into his embrace and felt the last vestiges of the dream fading away. I doubted if I would even remember it by morning.

"How long have you been here?" I murmured. He chuckled.

"Not long," he answered, but I didn't believe him for a second.

"How long?" I repeated, angling my head so that I could look up at him. He sighed.

"About an hour or so." My mouth dropped open.

"Why didn't you wake me?" I demanded. He tried to _shh_ me but I refused to let it go. "No," I hissed. "I will _not_ shh. I wanted to see you tonight. Not for you to sit an just watch me sleep!" I was mortified. _What if I snored?_

"Becca, you have to sleep. No," he cut me off when I would have protested. "You have to sleep. I have to sleep. If you don't promise to sleep, then I have to leave now." I studied him. He was serious. What's worse: he was right. I couldn't argue. It would be insanely selfish of me to demand that he stay up all night answering my questions. I sighed, realizing how immature I was behaving.

"Okay, but… if I promise to go back to sleep will you promise me something?" He looked at me, hesitant to make such a blanket promise. I held my breath. Finally, he nodded. "Promise you won't sneak out? I don't want to wake up alone and think I imagined you being here." He smiled.

"I promise." I smiled back and shifted over on the narrow bed to make room for him. He stretched out next to me and opened his arms, inviting me to reclaim my spot. I sighed as I sank into him, snuggling closer, my head cradled in a hollow between his shoulder and his chest.

"Ian?" I asked.

"Mmm?"

"I'm glad you're here."

"Me, too."

I awoke to the feel of gentle, teasing kisses feathering my temple. My eyes fluttered open, fighting against the invasion of the watery light struggling through my window.

"Good morning, beautiful," he whispered in my ear. I smiled up at my own personal miracle.

"You're still here," I gushed like an enormous goof.

"I promised," he pointed out. "I'll always keep my promises." I felt a shiver run down my spine. "I love you, Becca. I don't think I can bear to be parted from you for long." I giggled and blushed. "I know," he grumbled. "I'm smitten." He smiled at me and leaned down for a "good morning" kiss. He was barely a hair's breath from meeting my lips when I suddenly realized that I hadn't yet brushed my teeth. I squealed and slapped my hand over his mouth.

"Whumph?" he asked, his eyebrows raised in inquiry.

"I need to brush!" I hissed, trying not to open my mouth more than strictly necessary. He started to protest, but when he saw that I had absolutely no intention of kissing him with my morning breath mouth he groaned and gave in, rolling back to allow me up. "I'll hurry," I promised. "Um, don't…go anywhere."

I rushed across the hall and gasped at my reflection in the mirror over the sink. My hair was a frizzy mess. I quickly dragged a brush through my chaotic hair, then grabbed my toothbrush and toothpaste. I was tempted to hurry, but there are some hygiene rituals that just shouldn't be rushed. I opted for thoroughness. I also swiped on some deodorant and slicked on some lip gloss. I was hoping the gloss wouldn't last long, but while it did, my lips would look all pink and shiny.

I crept back across the hall as quietly as I could. It must have still been really early, because I couldn't hear anyone moving around yet. I eased my bedroom door open and poked my head around, grinning when I found Ian still sprawled on my bed.

"Hi," I said, slipping back into the room and closing the door behind me. He held his arms open to me once again and raised his eyebrow.

"Okay now?" he asked. I dived back into his arms, grinning stupidly.

"Much," I confirmed. He rolled slightly over me and cradled my face in his hands. He smirked as he leaned down to me. "Good, because I have been waiting hours for you to wake up so I could do this…"

His lips brushed mine, gently at first, but rapidly deepening. I could feel my breath hitch. I was having trouble catching my breath. I was vaguely cognizant that my mother was sleeping just down the hall. It was enough to remind me to be quiet. I struggled to exert some control over my reactions. My pulse was jumping erratically, my chest heaving, desperate for oxygen. A moan was fighting for release from deep within my chest.

"Becca!" my mother shouted. "You need to get up or you're going to be late!" I groaned. Ian tensed and his head dropped to my shoulder. He huffed out a sigh and kissed my lips tenderly, one last time.

"I'm going home to change and clean up," he said softly. "Will you let me come back and drive you to school?" It was sweet of him to ask, but his tone implied he didn't hold out much hope that it would be that easy. It killed me to make him right.


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

**Female Bonding**

The rest of the week went by in spurts: time with Ian flying unstoppably by, time apart dragging on interminably. I still hadn't gotten any solid facts out of Ian. Conversations in class were necessarily circumspect, and the only times that Ian and I could really be alone were stolen moments in my bedroom at night. Even then, we could only communicate in brief, hushed whispers before Ian demanded that I go to sleep. His threat was always the same: go to sleep or he'd go home. My frustration was growing by the hour.

Finally, Friday dawned, cold and misty, as usual. But for once, my mood couldn't be tamped down by a monsoon. It was _Friday_! The day my mother had promised that Ian and I could go out! Finally, an actual date. Alone. No more awkward stares by other students in the hall or cafeteria. No more glares from teachers when our attention was not completely focused on their lectures. No more Mom kicking Ian out promptly at ten and inadvertently driving him off again at six. I sighed in contentment. I had so many questions pent up inside my brain and tonight I was going to get some answers.

I dressed quickly and rushed through the kitchen, grabbing a package of toaster pastries on my way through.  
"Bye, Mom! Bye, Jenna!" I called happily. I practically skipped out to my car and the drive to school breezed by. I pulled into the parking lot and was able to snag a spot reasonably close to where I could see Ian's black BMW. I smiled. Ian hadn't given up on wanting to drive me to school, or following me home, but at least he trusted my little bug to get me _to_ school.

As I had hoped, Ian was waiting for me at my locker. He was leaning casually against the locker next to mine, smiling a sweet, goofy "I'm glad to see you" lopsided smile. I smiled back as I dumped my books into my locker and grabbed what I needed for first period.

"Good morning!" I gushed.

"Well, aren't you rather _chipper_ this morning? Any reason that I should be aware of?" He was still smiling, so clearly not as clueless as he was pretending to be.

"Any reason that I _shouldn't _be chipper?" I teased back.

"Oh, I don't know," he hedged. "Homework? Gas prices? Unemployment on the rise? I guess I could think of a few not so cheery topics." He was still smiling that lopsided smile. I felt my heart flutter softly.

"Oh no you don't" I challenged. "You asked my mom if we could go out and she said Friday and that's today, buster. So you had better have something in mind because I am getting out of the house with or without you. But with you would be better." I grinned up at him and ignored the fake shock on his face.

"Oh! You want to go out? With me?" he teased. "Tonight? Well, it's kind of short notice, but I think I can pull some strings… cancel a few things…" I cut him off with a playful punch in the shoulder. "_Ouch!_" he groaned, grabbing his arm and hamming it up. "That really hurt! Have you been working out?" He wiggled his eyebrows at me suggestively and I blushed and giggled.

"Alright, Ms. Taft, Mr. McClaren," Principal Thorn interrupted sharply, "that's enough dilly-dallying for one morning. Get on to class, you two." I rolled my eyes at Ian and we went off in the direction of my first class. I still hadn't figured out how he managed to walk me to every class, make it to his own class on time, and be back at my class when the bell rang. It seemed impossible. Part of the enigma that was Ian.

The day seemed to drag by, all of my teachers and the universe at large conspiring to make me wait. I discovered that every single classroom in the entire building had the exact same analogue clock and the combined ticking of all of them seemed to be mocking me into insanity.  
At last, the final bell rang, releasing me for the whole weekend. I intended to spend every waking moment (and more than a few sleeping ones) with Ian. He was waiting for me in his customary spot, across the hall from my Geometry class door, leaning casually, but oh-so-scrumptiously against the bank of lockers. He smiled and held out his hand for my books. Once he had adjusted his grip to hold my things as well as his own, he extended his hand to me again and I happily slipped my own into it. I couldn't stop smiling.

Ian walked me to my car and, ever the gentleman, opened my door for me. I tossed my bag and purse onto the passenger seat, but before I could slide down into my seat, Ian grabbed my arm and tugged me out from behind the door. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me in close. His lips brushed mine softly and then he directed his lips to my ear.

"I have been waiting all week for tonight," he whispered huskily, sending shivers down my spine.

"Me too," I answered.

"I'll pick you up at seven."

"And where are we going after that?" I asked.

"It's a surprise," he teased. I could hear the smile in his voice. "I'm taking you to my favorite place for dinner, and then some dancing…"

"Mmm," I hummed. "That sounds romantic. What should I wear to this mysterious venue?"

"It doesn't matter what you wear," he smiled. "You'd look stunning in a potato sack."

"Mmm," I repeated, only this time it wasn't the happy sound it was before. "Come on, Ian! I have to know how to dress!" He just smiled and shook his head. "Fine, but if I show up in a swanky restaurant in jeans it'll be on your head!" He chuckled, completely unthreatened, kissed me softly one more time and then firmly put me into my car and shut the door.

I raced home, hoping to catch Jenna before she went out with one of her friends or one of the twenty or so boys who were always asking her out. I screeched to a halt in the driveway and dashed inside, throwing a wave to Ian as he pulled away in a crisply executed u-turn.

"_Jenna_!" I shouted, slamming the front door. "Jenna! I need help!" No answer. "It's a fashion emergency!" That did it. I could hear her footsteps scurrying down the upstairs hall as I rounded the corner to rush up to her room.

"What's wrong now?" she demanded in a sulky, putout voice, but I saw through her in an instant. There was a sparkle in her eyes that I hadn't seen since she had helped me get ready for the Halloween dance.

"I need help!" I exclaimed. "I'm desperate. Ian is taking me out tonight for our first official date and he won't tell me where we're going and I have no idea what to wear! Help!"

"Calm down," she sighed. "What are your options?" I thought for a moment, mentally evaluating everything in my pathetically skimpy wardrobe.

"Oh, I'm screwed!" I moaned. "I don't have anything date-worthy, let alone very-special-first-date-to-a-mystery-location-worthy."

"Oh stop it!" she ordered brusquely. You go get in the shower; I'll pick through and see what I can find. She shooed me up the stairs and into the bathroom and I went gratefully. This was clearly out of my element and I was happy to take advantage of Jenna's expertise.

I showered quickly; afraid to delay too long while Jenna was rifling through my closet. I was afraid that I would emerge to find half of my clothes in the trash. I picked up the towel that I had lain out on the counter and noticed the undergarments that Jenna had left for me. I was a little uncomfortable because they clearly weren't mine. The bra was strapless and a fleshy-nude color and the panties matched.

"Jenna!" I called.

"Yeah?"

"Did you leave these in here?" I asked nervously.

"Yeah!" she answered. "What's the problem? Don't they fit?"

"Um," I hesitated. "I'm sure they're fine."

"Then hurry up and put them on!" she ordered. "We've got a lot of work to do!" I sighed and obeyed, wrapping the towel around me for modesty before exiting the bathroom.

I found Jenna, not in my closet, as I had expected, but in hers.

"You were right," she snorted. "You've got squat, so I came in here to find something." I looked around in shock. The contents of our tiny, shared bathroom seemed to have exploded and multiplied in Jenna's room.

"What happened in here?" I asked in horror.

"What?" she returned, unperturbed. "You didn't think there was room in the bathroom for both of us did you?" She cocked one eyebrow at me sarcastically. "I moved some of my stuff back in here while you were cleaning up."

"_Some_?" I gasped in disbelief. The contents of this one room could fill a small beauty supply store. There were t.v. trays set up in various stations around the room. One held a hair dryer and some hot rollers, plugged in and warming. Another held an array of hair gel, hair, spray, hairpins, mouse, serums, and other bottles that I couldn't supply a name for. Still more trays held make-up, lotions, creams, pantyhose, shoes, brushes, tweezers, and various implements of torture and female beauty ritual that I had never before encountered. _What have I gotten myself into?_ I thought with a groan.

"_Becca_," Jenna huffed in frustration. I realized that she had been talking to me and I had failed to notice. I turned to look at Jenna. "Close your mouth, lose the towel, and sit your butt down so we can get started."

It took Jenna two hours of blow-drying, rolling, fluffing, smoothing, plucking, creaming, and painting before she was happy. In the mean time, my mom had gotten home from work and tried to check on us, but Jenna refused to let her in until she was done.

She had dried my hair, smoothing out all of the rambunctious curls, only to roll it up on curlers. I was completely confused, but Jenna insisted that it would put the "right" kind of curls in. She then parted my hair in a complicated little pattern and swept it up into a high ponytail that fell in a very retro sort of poof that grazed my neck. The make-up was relatively simple, thank goodness. By the time she was finished, I looked like a Cover Girl make-up model.

"Wow, Jenna!" I gushed. "How did you _do _that?" She shrugged, but looked pleased. She turned and picked something up off the nearest table that looked like a wad of strings, but when she wrapped it around my waist and hooked it I realized it was a garter belt in the same non-descript nude shade as the bra and panties. "What's that for?" I asked stupidly.

"It's for holding up stockings, Genius."

"I know what it's _for_," I snapped back. "I mean, why? Wouldn't pantyhose be easier?"

"Easier, maybe. Sexy as hell? Not a chance." She smiled a wicked just-between-us smile.

"Jenna!" I gasped in laughter. "No one's going to know that I'm wearing stockings instead of pantyhose!"

"_You'll_ know," she pointed out seriously. I sobered immediately as the possibilities of that thought played out in my mind. I had never before considered sexy lingerie as empowering. I had always just thought they were eye-candy for guys.

"Oh," I sighed. "Well, I never thought about _that_ before."

Jenna grabbed a set of stockings and handed them to me, making sure that I put them on without snagging them. She talked me through fastening the peculiar little snaps in the front, but the back was hopeless. Finally after the fourth unsuccessful attempt (and getting popped with the little elastic ribbons, _again_) Jenna took pity on me and fastened the back ones for me.

"Alright! Now the dress." She rubbed her hands together in anticipation of my reaction. "You have to be very careful with this," she instructed. "It's new and _I_ haven't even had a chance to wear it out yet. So help me if you ruin it I'll make a new one out of your hide!" She reached into the closet and extracted a plastic draped hanger, which she hung on a hook on the closet door. She carefully raised the plastic up the dress and draped it behind the hanger.

"Oh, Jenna," I breathed. "It's beautiful."

"I know," she sighed.

The dress was a fitted off-white sundress style with tiny brown satin ribbons that tied in dainty little bows at the shoulders instead of straps. It looked to be about knee length with cutwork around the hem and miniscule flowers embroidered in brown silk thread all over.

"Um, Jenna?"

"Hmm?"

"It's November."

"So?"

"So, isn't that more of a summer dress?" She glared at me.

"Don't be stupid, Becca. It's not about the weather, it's about the _dress_."

"I'll freeze," I pointed out logically.

"Are you dining _al fresco_?" she asked sarcastically.

"I don't _think_ so," I answered.

"Well, the weather won't matter _inside_, will it?" She had a point.

"Isn't it a little…"

"_What_?"

"See-through?" I whispered.

"Yeah, so?"

"Jenna, Mom is never going to let me out of the house in a see-through dress!" I protested. I really, really wanted that dress. I was borderline coveting that dress. But at the same time, I really wasn't sure I could pull it off.

"Just trust me for once. Put the dress on and you'll see."

I obeyed, letting the dress slide over my head and settle over my hips. Jenna slipped the delicate ribbon straps into place on my shoulders and pulled the zipper up in the back. I didn't recognize my reflection in the mirror. It was a perfect fit, as if the dress had been made just for me and had found a way to this night through my fashion obsessed sister. I now saw why the undergarments were all the same understated shade of beige. There were no dark shadows or bright white patches showing through the dress. It was all a uniform cream color that complemented my glowing skin and set off a sparkle in my eyes when I thought of Ian seeing me in this dress.

"Shoes!" Jenna enthused. I groaned. I hated wearing uncomfortable shoes, which seemed to be the only kind that my sister liked. She held up a pair of metallic bronzy-brown leather t-straps with a heel that looked only _slightly_ daunting. She knelt down and slipped one foot, then the other into the shoes, then buckled the tiny buckles at my ankles. Then she slid thick brown satin ribbons that matched those on the dress around from the front of the ankle strap so that they covered up the little buckles, making the shoes appear to be tied on, and stood back to admire her handy work. She pursed her lips in consideration.

"Something…" she muttered to herself. "Not sparkly…hmm. Maybe…Wait here, don't' move," she ordered and left. She came back in a minute dragging Mom who was still drying her hands with a dishtowel and demanding what rush was about all of a sudden.

"Mom, will you just _look_ already?" Jenna demanded. Mom stopped in the doorway and stared at me. I was still in the exact place that Jenna had left me, afraid to so much as breath too deeply and upset Jenna's masterpiece. I could see Mom's eyes begin to tear up and she started forward with her arms out, ready to hug me. Jenna grabbed her back.

"Look, don't touch," she ordered. Mom looked at her and rolled her eyes, but she obeyed, too. Instead, she settled for grabbing my hand and hugging it.

"Oh, Becca!" she sobbed. "You look so beautiful! So grown-up." I smiled and felt the sting of tears in my own eyes. This was a momentous event in a young girl's lift (though I would have been mortified if my mom had said so).

"Mom? Don't you think she _needs_ something?" Jenna hinted. Mom looked at her quizzically. "Just _look_," she prompted, pulling Mom a few feet back so that she could take in the whole picture.

"Hmm…" Mom thought. She pursed her lips in consideration and I was momentarily struck how like Mom Jenna is. It was like I was seeing into Jenna's future. It made me smile, but it also made me sad that I was so unlike either of them.

"Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?" Mom asked Jenna, which only confused me even more. Jenna nodded and grinned conspiratorially. Mom smiled back and rushed out without a word. She returned in a moment cradling a flat, square velvet box that I instantly recognized.

"Grandma's?" I asked, my throat becoming choked with sentimental tears.

Mom nodded and pressed the little clasp button that allowed the lit to pop open. My grandmother's wedding pearls were displayed on a bed of black velvet, each pearl perfectly matched for size and color. A pair of matching earrings were nestled on either side of the necklace and a double strand pearl bracelet was draped underneath. Mom set the box on a nearby table and carefully removed the necklace.

"Your grandmother wore these on her wedding day and they brought her good luck. I wore them on my wedding day and was privileged to be married to the most wonderful man in the world for five good years." Mom stepped behind me and draped the pearls around my neck and fastened the clasp.

"Someday, you girls will wear these for your weddings, but for tonight, you can borrow them." Mom rested her hands on my shoulders and smiled at me in the mirror. I reached up to grab one of her hands with mine and smiled a watery smile back.


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

**First Date**

The doorbell rang promptly at seven, setting my nerves jangling.

"I'll get it!" I called breathlessly.

"Oh no you won't!" Jenna cut me off at the pass, physically blocking the bedroom door with her body and thrusting out her hand to ward me off. "You will NOT go rushing downstairs like some giddy, stupid schoolgirl on a hormonal high! Mom is downstairs, _she'll_ answer the door and ask him to come in."

"But…" I protested practically bouncing in excitement, or I would have been but for the shoes on top of which I was precariously perched.

"No buts!" I listened with strained ears and, as Jenna had predicted, I could hear Mom graciously answering the door and inviting Ian in.

"Oh aren't those pretty!" I could barely make out Mom's words. "Becca will love them."

"Oh," I squealed. "He brought flowers again!" Jenna rolled her eyes.

"Listen to me," she hissed. "You are going to stay _right here_ until you calm yourself enough to glide down those stairs with grace and decorum. You are going to enter the living room, greet your date politely, thank him sweetly, but appropriately, for the flowers, and then…" she trailed off, waiting until she had my full attention. "You're going to talk to Mom." That sounded ominous. "Now," she continued, her posture relaxing somewhat now that I wasn't about to charge the door. "Let's finish getting you ready."

Jenna reached back into the closet and pulled another hanger to the front, sliding the most beautiful coat I had ever seen from the rack. It was a gorgeous ankle-length, double-breasted, chocolate brown velvet that was calling to me like a siren.

"Jenna, is that a magic closet?" I breathed, only half joking. She snorted.

"Why do you think I don't have a car?" she pointed out. "I can't afford to dress like I want to _and_ drive. I like clothes more." She walked up behind me and held out the coat for me. I slid my arms into the sleeves, careful not to snag the pearl bracelet on my wrist, and eased my hair out from under the collar. Jenna grabbed a lovely patterned silk scarf from the dresser and tucked it around my neck. I buttoned the coat and the effect was simply stunning.

"Can I go now?" I begged.

"Just a minute," Jenna stalled. She had a beaded, brown satin clutch bag that she was filling with "necessities." A small powder compact and the lipstick she had used on me ("for touch-ups"), my cell phone, my driver's license, and a folded fifty-dollar bill ("in case he turns into a troll and you have to call a cab to get home.")

"Thanks Jenna," I laughed. "I don't think I'll need it, but thank you." I hugged my big sister, feeling closer to her than I ever had before. She turned and handed me the clutch.

"Okay," she instructed, "I'm going to go do a fly-by and prep him for your entrance. You stay here for five minutes, take a deep breath, and come downstairs. Understand?" I laughed.

"Yeah, Jenna. I think I can handle it." She rolled her eyes at my flippancy, gave me an "air kiss" and wished me luck before slipping out of the door and closing it quietly behind her.

Five minutes had never seemed so long! Finally, when I though that enough time had passed that Jenna wouldn't reprimand me, I took a deep, calming breath, as instructed, and eased out of the door. I paused for a moment at the top of the stairs, crouching slightly to unabashedly eavesdrop on my sister interrogating Ian.

"So, where are you two kids off to tonight?" she asked casually, but I could have told her it was a wasted effort.

"I'm surprising Becca. Can you keep a secret?" he asked in hushed tones. I could imagine Jenna leaning in expectantly.

"Yes," she stage-whispered.

"So can I," he stage-whispered back. I could feel Jenna's frustration. Ian made me feel like that all the time. I suppressed a giggle, straitened up, and glided down the stairs with as much "grace and decorum" as I could muster.

"Hello, Ian," I greeted him politely and hoped Jenna was proud. "Oh! What lovely flowers!" I gushed, glancing at Jenna for approval. She nodded infinitesimally and jerked her head subtly in Ian's direction. I took her cue and stretched up to give Ian a chaste kiss on the cheek, pausing slightly to whisper in his ear, "Thank you, they're beautiful."

"Mmm," he murmured. "Not as beautiful as you." I pulled away smiling with a light blush riding on my cheeks.

"Rebecca?" Mom interrupted. "May I see you for a moment? In the kitchen, please." I smiled briefly at Ian and followed Mom into the kitchen, nervous about the conversation Jenna had warned me to expect.

"Is everything alright?" I asked nervously.

"Yes, of course, sweetheart. I just wanted to give you this." She held out her hand clasping a little bit of plastic. "It's for emergencies."

"A credit card?" I asked, puzzled. "What kind of emergencies do you and Jenna think I'm going to run into in Elkins?"

"You never know," she hedged. "I just think it's important for a girl to have emergency money of her own; just in case."

"Mom, it's a date. I'm sure Ian's got it covered." I was squirming.

"Sweetie, Ian's a very nice young man and he has lovely manners," she conceded. "But even the most well intentioned young man sometimes forgets his wallet." She chuckled to her self and pressed the card into my hand. "Just take it. It'll make me feel better knowing you have it." I surrendered, taking the card and sliding it into my purse behind my driver's license.

"Mom? About curfew…"

"_Becca_," she began in a warning tone. "You know your curfew is ten o'clock, like always." She sounded unreasonably firm.

"_Mom_," I whined. "Please? Just this once? Special occasion? First date? _Straight A student who never gets in trouble_?" I was laying it all on the line, using up every last ounce of my personal credit in the "Mom Bank." I crossed my fingers and silently pleaded with my eyes.

"Oh, all right," she sighed. "_Eleven_, and just this once so don't even think of asking again next week. I squealed and hugged Mom tight.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she smiled. "Now calm down or you'll get yourself all wrinkled." She smoothed my coat over my shoulders and patted my hair back into place. "Have a lovely time, sweetie."

"Thanks, Mom," I said sincerely. She touched my cheek softly, then shooed me back into the living room, where Ian was waiting patiently.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

"Of course," I answered with more confidence than I had ever before displayed. Maybe Jenna was rubbing off on me. I smiled and waved at Mom and Jenna as Ian took my hand and placed it in the crook of his arm to escort me out the door and to his waiting car. He stopped at the passenger door and kissed me softly before opening the door and handing me in.

"So, are you going to tell me _now_ where we're going?" I teased as he slid into the driver's seat and started the car. He smiled at me mischievously.

"Nope."

He pulled away from the curb and turned around to the main road. He turned right and headed past the high school and turned onto the street that led to the trendy downtown area of Elkins.

Elkins, like most modest sized towns, didn't offer a wide variety of nice restaurants, but it did have a small district of upscale restaurants that accepted reservations and were frequented by the country club set. Giovanni's was on the outer edge of this district, smaller, less impressive than the other places in the area, but the food was by far superior: the best to be had in a three-county radius. What it lacked in status it more than made up for in ambiance and the owner made a point of making every customer feel like a treasured member of the family.

I had only been to Giovanni's once. Last year, Jarred had taken us all there to celebrate my Mom's birthday. That was when I had really started getting nervous about their relationship. I loved the restaurant, however, and had always wanted to go back. It sent a little thrill of excitement up my spine when Ian turned into the parking lot. But instead of getting out and coming around to open my door, he turned in his seat to face me. He reached out his hand and softly brushed my cheek with the backs of his fingers.

"Would you be terribly disappointed if we don't stay?" he asked silkily.

"Why?" I asked confused.

"After sharing your company with everyone else all week, I really don't feel like being in a crowd tonight. Do you mind?"

"No," I whispered. "I don't mind at all."

"Wait here for me? I'll just be a minute," he promised. I nodded. He disappeared almost silently and was back before the car had even begun to cool.

"Miss me?" he asked.

"Maybe," I teased, smiling coyly. He smiled back and hefted a large sturdy paper shopping bag through the gap in the seats to the floor in the rear. He started the car and pulled back out onto the little road and headed away from the main highway running through town.  
"Where are we going now?" I asked.

"I told you, I'm taking you to my favorite place for dinner."

"But I thought…" I trailed off in bemusement, gesturing feebly back in the direction of Giovanni's.

"Uh uh," he answered enigmatically. "They've got good food," he clarified, "but it's not my favorite place to eat."

We followed the gentle curve of the road out of town until the clusters of suburbanite neighborhoods petered out and the lights of town were left behind. Finally, Ian slowed the car and turned off onto a twisting driveway.

"Where are we?" I asked dubiously. Ian looked at me sideways and smiled again. The driveway wound through the trees for several minutes, making it impossible to see our ultimate destination. Finally the trees opened up into a clearing, revealing the most striking house I had ever seen. It was built on the scale of a mansion. I could see a detached garage behind and to the side of the main building, but Ian followed the curving branch of the driveway that led to the front of the house and stopped in front of the massive front door.

"Oh my," I breathed. Ian chuckled at my reaction and reached through the seats to extract the bag of take-out. He came around to open my door and offered his hand to help me out. I took it, still so absorbed in staring at the front of the house that I was sure I would trip over my own feet if I weren't careful. Ian led the way to the door and unlocked it deftly. He opened the door with a flourish and stepped back for me to enter ahead of him.

"Welcome to my home, Rebecca," he whispered in my ear as I passed. The entry was beautiful, from the marble tile floor to the sparkling chandelier high overhead. There was a circular mahogany table in the middle of the hall with a tall blue-patterned vase of flowers in its center. A series of doors opened off both sides of the main hall and I could make out what seemed to be a library inside one of them. To the right, a stairway led to the second story and flowed into the balcony that ran around the entire second floor, and overlooked the entry hall below.

Ian stood patiently, letting me look my fill until I turned my wondering eyes back to him.

"Do you like it?" he asked nervously.

"No," I answered softly and his face fell slightly before he could hide it. "I _love_ it!" I clarified and the smile that I cherished was instantly back in place on his perfect face. He gestured toward the back of the hall to an open door. I followed him into what I took to be a study.

There was a fireplace on one wall with wood already laid for cheerful fire. On the floor in front of the hearth, a linen tablecloth had been laid out and set with china place settings and comfortable looking squashy cushions. I turned to look at Ian with my eyebrows raised in question.

"I like this room better than the dining room," he shrugged, setting the paper bag on a small round side table. Both it and the sofa it complemented looked as if they had been shoved back to make room for the little romantic picnic. "Its more…cozy. May I take your coat?"

My nerves zinged when I realized that the moment had arrived. Ian was about to see my dress. _Oh crap!_ I thought. I needed a moment to catch my breath, to take it all in and compose myself, so I turned around to set my purse on another little table and began unbuttoning my coat with fumbling fingers, stalling for a moment. Ian came up behind me and eased the coat off of my shoulders, kissing each bare expanse of skin before stepping back to lay my coat across the back of the sofa. I turned slowly to face him, holding my breath.

"My God, you're beautiful," he whispered. My face flushed in delight and my throat clogged with sudden ridiculous tears.

"Really?" I asked stupidly. He moved in closer, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into his chest.

"You take my breath away," he murmured.

"Well that's not exactly fair, since you don't really need to breath, now is it?" I giggled.

"Mmm, but I want to breath when you're around," he added. "You smell delectable." I froze for a moment. _Was he just thinking about me as dinner?_ I wondered, but then he went on, "Is that a new perfume?" I relaxed and let out the breath I had been holding without realizing it.

"It's Jenna's," I said. "We had some quality girl time today."

"Really? What did you two get up to all afternoon?"

"Oh, she helped me get ready."

"Yeah? What else did you do?" I looked up at him in disbelief.

"That's pretty much all we had time for."

"I very much doubt that it took four hours for you to get ready," he said, chuckling in that condescending way that men sometimes do when discussing female grooming habits. I started mentally adding up: half hour to shower, two hours for hair and make-up, another hour for stockings, dress, and shoes, and half an hour of warm fuzzy time with Mom and Jenna. I blushed and groped for a change of subject.

"How long does it take _you_ to get ready?" I challenged, hoping to put the spotlight back firmly on him.

"About forty-five minutes, why?" he returned nonchalantly. _The dirty rotten dog!_ I thought and huffed in exasperation. He chuckled and turned to the table where he had left the food. "Would you care for a glass of wine?" he offered and I blushed again.

"Ian," I pointed out nervously, "I'm not twenty-one."

"Neither am I," he chuckled. I hesitated. I knew my mom would flip out if she knew I was completely alone with Ian and he was offering me liquor. On the other hand, I wasn't driving anywhere and I trusted Ian not to try to get me drunk.

"Half-a-glass," I decided. "And no refills."

"As you wish," he smiled and handed me a glass. "Would you like to sit down while I get this together?" He gestured to the squashy cushions on the floor and I sank onto one, trying desperately not to slosh wine onto Jenna's dress. Ian busied himself arranging food onto the plates and settling everything into place on the tablecloth. There were candle stands spaced around the room and Ian went around lighting each before turning to set the fire ablaze. Finally, he sank onto the cloth next to me with a small black remote in his hand.

"Music?" he asked thoughtfully.

"Yes, please," I agreed. The silence was becoming a little intimidating. He aimed the remote at the wall behind me and soft jazz floated from invisible speakers hidden around the room.

The food was delicious, I'm sure, though I hardly tasted any of it. I picked at my plate of fettuccini and sipped at the wine, but all I was really aware of was Ian. Suddenly, it occurred to me that I was sitting with a vampire and eating Italian food.

"Oh!" I gasped. "You're eating garlic!" He laughed so hard that tears began rolling down his cheeks and he was holding his stomach.

"Yes, I can eat garlic," he chuckled, wiping tears from his eyes. "That's just a myth."

"Stakes?" I asked.

"That one's disturbingly true," he said sobering.

"Mirrors?"

"Myth."

"Fire!" I tried.

"That pretty much gets everyone," he smirked.

"Hmm," I thought. "How does the sunlight thing work? You don't seem to burst into flames or anything."

"No, nothing so dramatic, I'm afraid." He looked down, gathering his words. "It's much more subtle. I can tolerate indirect sunlight fairly well. That's why Elkins is such a good fit for me. The predominance of cloud cover makes it possible for me to be out in the day."

"So why don't you just stick to nights?" I asked. "Don't a lot of vampires do that?"

"Aye," he affirmed, slipping back into his native tongue unconsciously. "Many do take the path of least resistance," he allowed. "But I've never been one to go the easy way." He gazed into the fire with a far-away expression, hardened with steely resolve.

"So, what happens when you get in direct sunlight?" I asked, hoping to draw him back into our lighter conversation. "Big _poof_?" He looked back at me in surprise.

"_Poof_?" he repeated. He stared at me for a moment more before bursting into laughter again. "No, no big 'poof,'" he chuckled. "It's…it's more of a weakening, a draining of my strength."

"Like kryptonite?" I offered.

"Um, sort of, I suppose. If I staid too long, I would die. Like a bad allergy," he clarified.

"Interesting…" It was my turn to stare thoughtfully into the fire.

"Is that all you can come up with?" he teased. "I'm disappointed, Becca. I thought you were more inquisitive that _that_." He _tsked_ playfully. I looked at him archly, seriously evaluating his challenge.

"Holy water." I threw down the proverbial gauntlet.

"Hmm," he thought. "Never had a taste for the stuff myself."  
"But would it kill you?" I asked triumphantly.

"You know? I don't have the slightest idea. Huh." He looked like he was seriously considering the possibility. "I think I'm okay with not testing that one, alright with you?" I returned his smile and we slipped into an easy banter that carried us through dessert: a scrumptious tiramisu.

"Dance with me?" I had just savored the last delectable bite of my dessert when he spoke, rising to his feet and holding out his hand to help me up.

"Mmm, dinner _and_ dancing? A girl could get spoiled," I teased. I grasped his hand and let him haul me lightly to my feet. He pulled me into his arms and my head slipped naturally into place in that perfect little hollow between his chest and shoulder. I sighed in happy contentment.

"What?" he asked. I shook my head lightly. "Tell me? Please?"

"I was just thinking that I was perfectly, blissfully happy right now. I could stay right here for eternity and I don't think I would ever need to move." I sighed again. I felt his soft chuckle rumble through my body.

"I imagine the need for food or sleep could eventually coax you away," he challenged.

"Uh uh," I denied. I tightened my arms around his waist to prove my point.

Ian was busy placing tender little kisses along my hairline and his hands were working magic on my back. One of his hands was on the small of my back, pressing me close. The other was trailing lightly from my shoulder blades to my waist and back again. Little tingles of awareness followed the movement of his hands. I could feel my pulse pick up and my breathing becoming more and more erratic.

Slowly, not wanting to break the spell that had fallen over the two of us, I lifted my head from his shoulder and met his eyes. The passion burning there took me by surprise and a gasp escaped my lips. He lowered his lips to mine slowly, giving me ample time to stop him, had I wanted to. I didn't.

Our lips collided and my body molded to his. For me, the word did not cease to be when we kissed, but rather seemed to focus in minutely, so that every sight, sound, touch and taste was filled with him. Every sensation was experienced through the beautiful, hazy filter of Ian. And for that reason, the world was all the more beautiful, more pure, more exciting and intense…just _more_.

I was unaware of the passage of time, but I did slowly realize that I was no longer on my feet, but instead cradled in strong arms on a bed of cushions on the floor in front of the dwindling fire. I gasped in surprise: I hadn't felt us move. He heard my soft sound of wonder and misinterpreted it as distress.

"I'm sorry," he groaned, pulling away and sitting on the farthest edge of the beautiful linen cloth that had served as our banquet table. I struggled to sit up, trying to exert some control over my raging hormones.

"Ian," I began, "what's wrong?" My words were slurred slightly with passion and confusion.

"Becca, I'm so sorry," he repeated, not looking at me. "I shouldn't have pushed you like that. It was inexcusable. I'll take you home now." Shock shuddered through me.

"Like Hell you will!" His face snapped back up to meet my now confrontational gaze.

"But I thought…"

"Stop thinking for me, Ian," I ordered harshly. "If you want to know if I'm upset, you should _ask_ me." His utter bemusement would have been so sweet, if it hadn't just killed what promised to be a truly special moment. I sighed. "Would you really kick me out without the grand tour?" I smiled teasingly, hoping to lighten the mood and get this date back on track. He hesitated for one interminable moment during which I was holding my breath.

"What would you like to see first?" he asked, smiling my favorite smile.


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

**Behaving…Mostly**

The house was simply perfect. Each room was decorated in a style that was at once elegant and comfortable. The kitchen was one that a professional chef would envy, and appeared completely unused. I guess it would be, as Ian's diet didn't exactly require extensive preparation. Just a little zap in the microwave and _presto_! Instant dinner.

Ian showed me the formal receiving rooms downstairs first: dining room (Ian was right, the study was better), study, library, and powder room. Upstairs was like a five star hotel. The guest bedrooms were outfitted with every luxury that a guest could possible desire, including a private bathroom in each. The master suite was saved for last. The dominant feature of Ian's bedroom was a massive king size, black, wrought iron, canopy bed draped in a dark gold coverlet and framed by gold toned, shear curtains that could be pulled closed to completely enclose the bed. I stared from the doorway, mesmerized. Ian stopped right behind me with his hands resting possessively on my waist. I had never seen something so beautiful, so inviting, and yet, so intimidating.

"Wow," I breathed. "You sleep in _that_?" He chuckled.

"I did," he clarified.

"And you don't anymore because?"

"I like your bed better," he murmured as he leaned down to nuzzle the back of my neck. I blushed in embarrassment even as a shiver of pleasure rippled down my spine.

"You can't possible prefer my tiny, lumpy little bed to _that,_" I protested.

"True, the bed itself leaves something to be desired," he allowed, "but it has one advantage that this one does not."

"And that would be?" I challenged, twisting to look at him with my best impersonation of his skeptical raised eyebrow.

"You," he whispered. I groaned. I had to take a step back to keep from throwing myself at him. Instead, I stepped further into the room to explore. The closet was bigger than my whole room, but the bathroom was a religious experience.

"Oh," I whimpered as I walked into the luxury of Ian's bathroom. It was a study in white, set off by subtle accents in neutral beige. I ran my fingers along the marble countertop and unabashedly groped the enormously fluffy bath towels. "Egyptian cotton?" I asked.

"Of course," he smiled. I melted.

"Is that a swimming pool?" I gasped.

"Too big for a tub?" he asked, smirking.

"No such thing," I denied. I felt an almost irrepressible urge to climb into the elegant monstrosity. I could feel it pulling at me like gravity. Ian strolled casually in my wake, his hands in his pockets.

"Want a bath?" he asked in his silkily seductive voice. I both loved and hated that he could read me so well.

"N-no," I stuttered. Ian reached out one hand and stroked across my cheek and down my neck.

"Are you sure about that?" he asked and the sultry question sent a shiver of recognition through me. I felt a moment of déjà vu, like I was remembering a dream. Shock jolted through my body and I stumbled backward awkwardly.

"What did you say?" I demanded shakily. He immediately stepped forward to grasp my arms in his strong, reassuring grip.

"I asked if you wanted a bath." His eyes searched mine, looking for the source of my distress. "The way you were looking at the tub was positively lustful. I thought you'd like to try it. What is it, Becca?"

"N-nothing," I insisted. I shook off the weird recollection and struggled to focus on the present.

"Becca? What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing, really," I insisted. "It was just a really weird feeling, like I'd heard that before." I shivered. "Same words, same tone, same feeling of…I don't know…seduction?" I looked up into his eyes and saw them widen in alarm.

"Who said that to you?" he demanded. "What did they want?"

"N-nobody, I think…I think it was in a dream." I saw him start to relax a little, the tension slowly leaching out of his powerful muscles. He pulled me into his arms for an engulfing hug that left me struggling for breath.

"Ian!" I gasped. "Need to breath." He chuckled, but loosened his hold immediately. "I should probably get home," I said half-heartedly. "What time is it anyway?"

"About ten till," he answered.

"Ten till what, exactly?"

"Eleven," he answered nonchalantly, already beginning to nuzzle my neck again. My shriek of alarm completely killed his momentum, however.

"What?" I demanded. "I'm going to be late and Mom's going to go berserk! She'll ground me for a month!" Ian's most frustrating response was an unconcerned chuckle.

"Relax _a chroi_, I'll get you home on time." He kissed me softly, then, as if we had all the time in the world, as if there were no more worthwhile endeavor than standing in his obscenely luxurious bathroom with his lips playfully teasing mine. I could feel the passion rising within me and had to call a halt before I was completely swept away. I groaned and pulled away, dragging him through the bedroom (averting my eyes from the ostentatiousness of the bed) and back down to the study to collect my coat and purse. Ian followed grudgingly, allowing me to narrowly win the battle for now. The smirk on his lips told me in no uncertain terms that it was solely through his own will that I managed to maneuver him at all. If he chose, he could have me back up the stairs and in his bed before my sluggish human brain could register that we were heading the wrong direction. And if that wasn't bad enough, he clearly didn't believe I would truly protest. _Why is he always so right? Smug jerk!_ I rolled my eyes and tugged him out to the car.

True to his word (though not easy on my heart or stomach) he pulled to a stop outside my house promptly at ten fifty-nine. He jogged gracefully around the car to open my door and help me out of the car. This time, when he walked me to my door, his arm was securely wrapped around my waist and my body was fitted snuggly to his. The porch light was on, waiting for me. I was willing to bet that Mom was waiting up in the living room to make sure that I wasn't late.

Ian stopped at the door and turned me in his arms to press his lips softly to my lips and then my cheek.

"Do you want me to come back tonight?" he whispered in my ear.

"Yes, please," I whispered back, blushing.

"Leave your window open," he nuzzled his nose down the line of my jaw to the little hollow behind my ear. "I'll see you in a little while." I nodded and went inside, floating on a cloud of bliss.

Mom was, indeed, waiting up for me and her telling glance at her watch as I breezed in said she was fully aware that I managed to make it into the house about two minutes late.

"Oh, Mom, lighten up!" I grinned. "I was on the porch by eleven. That counts." Mom rolled her eyes.

"Go to bed, Rebecca."

"M'kay," I replied dreamily and glided up the stairs still thinking of Ian and his promise to come back later.

I wanted to hurry through my preparations for bed, but I didn't dare mistreat Jenna's clothes. I carefully hung the coat and dress on hangers and made a mental note to drop both off at the dry cleaners before returning them to Jenna. The shoes, that I had managed not to scuff, I placed carefully on the floor of my closet, and then stood back to admire them once more. The giddy feeling was back. I was starting to giggle for absolutely no reason. It was the most wonderful feeling.

In the bathroom, I hummed while I brushed my teeth and hair and washed the make-up from my face. The scrubbing left a cheery pink glow riding on my cheeks that went really well with the sparkle in my eyes. I went happily back to my room, opened the window, and snuggled down in bed to wait for Ian.

I could feel the difference in the room the moment he appeared. One second I was alone, the next second he was there. I didn't look up, but smiled to myself.

"About time," I teased. "I was about to give up on you and go to sleep."

"Well then, I guess I would just have to find a really nice way to wake you up," he whispered as he padded silently to the bed. The light from my bedside lamp cast intimate shadows around the room, giving the impression that we were completely alone in a cocoon of privacy.

"And how exactly might you do that?" I asked breathlessly. He sank onto the side of the bed and gently trailed his fingers along my jaw.

"I'd start by kissing…right there. Then I'd move hear, to your ear, the little hollow just beneath, the one that always makes you shiver." His fingers traced the path of his words and elicited the afore mentioned shiver right on cue. I let my eyes drift closed and my head drop back to the pillow, all pretense of coolness completely gone. I felt him slide down next to me and his lips joined his fingers in their exquisite torture. I groaned quietly and my lips sought his, then we were kissing in earnest. My hands found their way into his hair and fisted there. His hands roamed freely from my hair, down my neck and to the gentle swell of my breast. My moan of pleasure caught us both by surprise and Ian pulled back, sighing.

"You should try to get some sleep," he whispered.

"Not yet," I refused and pulled his lips back to mine.

"Becca," he warned.

"Not yet," I repeated, almost desperate to have his hands back on my body. He gave in with a sigh and kissed me tentatively. I wasn't having that and I pushed him to pick up where we had left off. I could feel him struggling to hold back, but I refused to let him. "Ian," I whispered, frustration ringing in my tone. "Please?" He groaned softly, but intensified the kiss. His hand gravitated back toward my breast and I could hardly breath in anticipation. He paused on my ribcage, however, and I felt like I could scream in frustration. Finally, I reached down to grasp his hand, and placed it firmly on my breast and held it there. He raised his head slightly to meet my eyes.

"Are you sure?" he asked. I held his gaze and nodded solemnly. "Tell me if you want to stop," he whispered. I nodded again. He smiled my favorite lopsided smile and bent his head back to mine.

My little bed was cramped and lumpy and the sheets were well nigh threadbare, but in that moment, I wouldn't have traded it for any bed in the world, unless Ian was in it. In fact, the small space worked to my advantage as it kept Ian well within my reach. I was in paradise. His lips devoured mine with precision; his hands coaxed my body into passionate abandon. Had it been left to me, I would not have woken up still an innocent the next morning. Ian, however, seemed ever aware of our location and the possible ramifications of us being caught. Every time I was in danger of going too far, he firmly put on the brakes.

"Ian!" I hissed when he removed my hands from the buttons on his shirt for about the fifth time.

"Becca, I am _not_ going to make love to you by sneaking around in your mother's house while she and your sister are sleeping just down the hall."

"But…" I began but he cut me off at once.

"Nor am I going to allow you to do anything you might regret tomorrow."

"Don't you think that's a bit high handed?" I demanded in a furious whisper. "I can make my own decisions, you know."

"Not when said decision has just as big of an impact on my future as it does on yours." I huffed in frustration, but he was sort of right…again. _Damn it!_ I felt Ian's chuckle as he reached over my body to switch off the lamp, plunging us both into a tense darkness. "Try to get some sleep _a ghrá_. It's been a long day. We'll talk about it tomorrow." Out of all the things he could have said, how did he always manage to choose just the right one? There was nothing guaranteed to improve my outlook on life so much as the promise of another day spent with Ian. I sighed and sank deeper into his embrace and grumbled once more half-heartedly. I could feel his smile where his lips were pressed against my temple.

"What does that mean, anyway?" I asked.

"Hmm?"

"_A ghrá,_" I clarified.

"It's a term of affection in Gaelic," he explained. It means "my love."

"Oh," I whispered. "Good night, _a ghrá_," I murmured sleepily.

"Goodnight, my love," he answered. I fell asleep to the feel of Ian's arms holding me securely and the sound of him humming a tune that was at once foreign and familiar. It was a tune I had never heard before, but one that my heart seemed to recognize. I sighed and drifted off into a blessedly dreamless sleep.


	17. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

**Who can you trust?**

Saturday morning, I awoke to find myself alone in my tiny bed. I sighed. I knew that eventually Ian would have to leave before I awoke, statistically it had to happen sometime, but that didn't lessen my disappointment. I grumbled to myself as I flipped the covers back and stumbled out of bed and downstairs to the kitchen. I was halfway through my Honey Nut Cheerios when the doorbell rang.

"Who could that be?" Mom asked and I stared at her blankly.

"How the heck would I know?" I groused. "Everyone I know knows I don't do mornings." Mom looked at me with one arched brow. I groaned, shrugged and shlumped off to answer the door. I donned my surliest expression, fully prepared to castigate whoever was ringing the bell on a Saturday morning, but the words died on my lips.

"Ian!" I gasped trying to hide my disheveled self behind the door. "What are you doing?"

"I thought you might want to spend the day together." His smile was hesitant and unsure. "Did I misunderstand?"

"No," I rushed. "Don't leave! I have to get dressed. Sit!" I ordered, shoving him into the living room. "Mom!" I shouted. "I'm going out with Ian!" I rushed up the stairs only to turn back around and rush back to the living room doorway. "Do I have time for a shower?" I asked Ian. He turned from where he had been examining family photos on the mantle to regard me calmly.

"I am at your disposal," he replied, his gaze heavy with meaning.

"Is that a yes?" I asked.

"Yes," he smiled.

"Be right back." I grinned at him and rushed back up the stairs to get cleaned up. I hummed all the way through my shower and while I gave my hair a quick blast with the hairdryer to get it started drying. I smiled while I brushed my teeth. I danced back across the hall to my room and grabbed the first shirt I came across. I didn't really care what I wore today; I only cared about getting out of the house as quickly as humanly possible so that I could enjoy my free day with Ian. I started to dash out of the room, and then remembered Jenna's dress on the closet hook. I needed to drop it off at the cleaners so that I could return it clean. I didn't think Ian would mind the detour.

I was tromping cheerfully down the stairs when Mom called to me from the kitchen. _ Crap!_ I thought. _What now?_

"Yeah Mom?" I barely poked my head around the kitchen door, trying to be the smallest possible target.

"Come in please," she pressed sternly. "Sit down please," she continued. "Now, where exactly are you going, with whom are you going, what are you planning on doing there, and when exactly are you planning on being back?" _Uh oh,_ I mentally groaned. Mom was really laying down the law. I had no idea why, but Mom was ticked about something.

"Um," I began inauspiciously. "I'm going with Ian, not sure where, yet. I guess not sure what we're doing either. I'll be back sometime before curfew?" I smiled my best "good girl" smile.

"I don't think so, young lady. You are going to have to get me some answers before you walk out that door or you're not walking out of it at all." _Since when?_ I thought.

"Mom, you've never asked me that before. Ever." I pointed out. "Why the third degree all of a sudden? You didn't ask where I'd be last year, and now I'm even older and more responsible than I was then." Mom looked away from me and I could swear she was squirming.

"Becca, last year you went every where with Reed. I never had to worry about you."

"Trust me Mom, you don't have to worry about me. I'm with Ian. He can handle anything," I answered confidently.

"That's what I'm worried about," she muttered.

"Excuse me?"

"Becca, I do trust you, but I don't know him well enough to trust him yet. He's still an unknown quantity. I don't want you spending every waking moment with him where I can't monitor you."

"Mom!" I gasped in outrage. "You've seen for yourself that Ian is a perfect gentleman. If you didn't think so you never would have let me out of the house with him last night!" Plus, there was the fact that I was already spending more than waking moments with Ian and there was no supervision going on there. Best not to mention that.

"That's not the same thing and you know it!" she protested.

"It's exactly the same thing!" I countered. "Either you trust me to make good decisions or you don't. I'm a reasonably good kid who never gets in trouble and has _finally_ taken your incessant advice to start dating. You can't keep changing the rules and treat me differently just because I'm going with Ian instead of Janie or Reed. Make up your mind already!"

Mom glared at me, undecided. On the one hand, there was clearly some agenda at work that I was unaware of. On the other hand, I knew I had made a legitimate argument. She was obviously in a bit of a dilemma.

"Fine," she grumbled. "But you'd better not miss curfew once, and if I call that cell phone you'd better answer by the second ring!" I smiled and leaned down to kiss her cheek.

"Thanks Mom," I said.

"And you'd better check in once in a while and let me know you're still alive!" she pressed.

"Okay Mom. Love you, see you later."

I could tell from the way that Ian's attention was so deliberately focused on the pictures that he had heard every word in the kitchen, but he was pretending that he hadn't. I was glad. Even the pretense of privacy was better than no privacy at all, especially when a vampire and his stupid super hearing were around. He turned as I entered the room and eyed the plastic covered dress draped over my arm.

"Do you have an errand you need to run?" he asked casually.

"If you don't mind? I just need to drop this off at the cleaners."

"Of course," he smiled, leaning in to kiss me softly on the cheek. I almost didn't notice when he slid the dress out of my hands.

"I can get that," I objected weakly.

"I know," he soothed. "But it pleases me to do for you. Will you humor me?" I groaned when I looked up into his eyes. He was doing it again. The puppy-eyes.

"All right," I conceded gracelessly. "Just this once."

"Becca!" I turned at Jenna's call from the bottom of the stairs. "Are you using your car today?"

"I don't think so," I hedged, glancing to Ian for confirmation. He nodded his affirmation. "Do you need to borrow it?"

"If you wouldn't mind? I want to go visit a friend and I have some shoes to return and…"

"Don't sweat it," I cut her off with a wave of my hand. "The spare keys are hanging on the hook in the kitchen."

"Thanks sweetie!" She blew me an air-kiss as she bounded back up the stairs. I turned back to Ian and shrugged my shoulders.

"Shall we go?" he asked casually.

"Mmm hmm," I nodded and we slipped out of the front door.

He held the car door until I was inside and then seemed to just appear in the seat next to me. I giggled. I was really digging the vamp thing. Despite what Ian would have me believe, it definitely had its advantages. He looked up at my laugh and smiled crookedly.

"What?" he asked. I smiled, but shook my head. "Tell me what you're thinking?" he pressed, his eyes locking on mine. _Hmm, let me think about that for a minute…Uh, no._ He reached out his hand and gently caressed my cheek. My heart turned over and my breath hitched. "Such a mystery," he whispered. Suddenly, he seemed to come back to himself and smiled wryly. He cupped my cheek one last time and turned back to start the car.  
"Where are we going today?" I asked.

"Any where you like," he answered with a smile. "The world is your playground and I am your humble chauffeur. Where would you like to go?" I thought for a minute. There was no place I cared to go, and no place I wouldn't gladly go with him. I was perfectly happy as long as we were together.

"I don't know…what would you like to do?" I asked. I suddenly realized that I had no idea what he did for fun.

"How about if we go to my house for a while, then maybe downtown for lunch?"

"Sounds great to me," I said sincerely. I tentatively reached over and laid my hand on top of his on the gearshift. He turned his hand over and wove his fingers through mine.

It took no time at all to get to Ian's house and it was just as awe inspiring of a sight as the last time I had ridden up that winding drive.

"Beautiful," I whispered, and he smiled at me. Ian pulled up to the front door, shut off the engine and came around to open my door before I could even think about touching it myself. "Thank you," I murmured. He held out his hand to assist me out of the car and when I was on my feet, he brought my hand to his lips.

"You are most decidedly welcome." His husky reply was murmured against my skin and it sent a chill tingling up my arm and down my spine like a shock wave.

We entered the front door and Ian, still holding on to my hand, pulled me straight through the main hall to a smaller door at the back of the house. Outside, a shady veranda wrapped around the entire back of the house. (Although, in Elkins, it probably served more as protection from rain than sun.) Down the steps, a tidy gravel path meandered off through a lovely garden. Riotously colored flowers filled geometric shaped beds bordered by miniature hedges. A fountain bubbled merrily in the center and, in the distance, a gazebo sat partially engulfed by several twisting flowering vines. Humming birds and butterflies flitted lightly through the picturesque scene.

Ian was a few steps ahead of me and had already descended the steps when I gasped in pleasure at the beauty of the garden. He turned and smiled up at me and tugged me to stand directly in front of him. I was still at the top of the steps so for once, I was on an eye level with him. I wrapped my arms lightly around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

"This wasn't on the tour last night," I murmured against his lips.

"Mmm," he hummed against mine. "Last night it was dark, and you can't see that well in the dark."

"But I wouldn't need to see if you were with me," I argued.

"Would you like to see it now, or do you just want to stand here?" he teased. I smiled and lightly punched him on the shoulder.

"Brat," I grumbled. "Lead on!"

He tugged on my hand until I was not just beside him, but snuggled into his side and wrapped securely in his arm. We meandered down the path to the gazebo. It was shady and peaceful inside where the vines had grown over the windows and dappled in gentle hazy sunlight where the windows were clear. The octagonal room was lined with benches and I had a momentary vision of Leisl and Rolfe in "The Sound of Music." I was tempted to race around the benches singing, "I am sixteen going on seventeen." I giggled again when Ian pulled me into his arms and swayed to the strains of imaginary music.

"There's no music," I whispered teasingly. He responded by humming a sweet melody in my ear. Like magic, the gloomy clouds opened up right on cue and let loose with a gentle shower, further enclosing the two of us in our own encapsulated little world. I snuggled closer into his arms and inhaled his heady scent now laced with the soft smell of fresh rain.

When the rain stopped about an hour later, we drifted back up to the house. We headed back through the main hall, where a buzzing noise caught my attention. I followed the noise to my purse on the table in the center of the hall and suddenly remembered that my cell phone was set on vibrate.

"Oh crap!" I grouched.

"What is it," Ian asked.

"My mom is going to have a conniption if she called and I didn't answer," I explained, digging around in my purse for the phone. I finally fished it out and struggled to ignore the way Ian's fingers were gently massaging my shoulders. I checked the number on the Caller I.D. and groaned when I saw that it was, in fact, my mother's cell number. "Great, I'm probably grounded for not answering the phone." Ian chuckled behind me and pushed my hair to one side so he could lean down and plant a trail of kisses down my neck.

I flipped the phone open and dialed my voicemail mailbox and listened while the automated voice went through its spiel. I heard my mom's voice and felt the blood drain out of my face. Ian's hands, too, froze on my shoulders, so I knew he was listening to the message.

"Becca! Where are you?" Her voice was frantic. "Becca, there's been an accident. Honey, it's Jenna. We're at the hospital. We don't know anything yet, but please get here as soon as you get this. Call me back, baby."

I felt the phone slip from my numb fingers, but it never hit the floor. Ian snatched it from mid-air and hit the redial button to call my mom back. I listened blankly.

"Mrs. Taft? This is Ian McClaren. I'm bringing Becca along right now. Of course, I'll take care of it." He closed the phone and shoved it back into my purse. He clutched the purse in one hand and my hand in the other and dragged me back out to the car. He shoved me down into the car and bounded around to the driver's side. He started to turn the key, then swore quietly and turned back to me and buckled my seat belt. I sat through the whole process, as well as the drive to the hospital, in stunned silence.

We arrived at the hospital and Ian had to lead me inside again, this time because I couldn't see where I was going for the tears blurring my vision. I stumbled away from his guiding hand and into my mother's waiting arms.

"Momma," I moaned, "what happened?"

"We're not sure, yet." She had obviously been crying for a while and her voice was husky. "She ran off the road on Highway 9 and hit a tree. They aren't sure yet, but it looks like she didn't slow down. They think it may have been a problem with the breaks."

"Oh my God," I breathed. _It's my fault_, I thought. I could feel my conscious connection to my senses fading rapidly as the horror of the situation overwhelmed me. The last thing I processed was being scooped up in strong arms and cradled protectively against Ian's chest. Then blessed oblivion descended.

I awoke some time later lying on a flat surface. It was padded, but in no way soft. My hand was being squeezed tightly and there was a strange man leaning over me with a penlight.

"Ah," he sighed in satisfaction, "here she comes. All right there, little one. Take it easy. You gave this young man quite a fright." He nodded to the side and I turned my head to follow the gesture. Ian was there, holding my hand.

Suddenly, the reason for my faint returned to me in a rush and tears blurred my eyes, once again.

"Jenna?" was all I could manage to ask, terrified of the answer.

"She's okay," Ian answered. "She's sleeping –heavily medicated – but she's going to be fine." He wiped away a tear before it could fall. "I promise, _a ghrá_, she'll be okay." I nodded, unable to speak for the lump in my throat.

I struggled to sit up for a moment, but the young intern who was assigned to me frowned and protested, telling me to just "take it easy" and rest for a while. I turned my gaze to Ian who understood immediately and scooped me off the exam table and into his arms. The intern protested, but I knew it was hopeless. I knew there was no way he would argue with Ian and I was right. I snuggled closer and cried. I couldn't get past the feeling that my own stubborn, idiot self was responsible for Jenna driving around in an unsafe car.

"It should have been me," I whispered.

"_No_, Becca," Ian growled in my ear. "Don't ever say something like that. It was an accident, I'm sure. You are in no way responsible for what happened. Becca, we'll fix it. I promise, it'll be okay." I could feel his hand in my hair and his lips pressed to the top of my head. I believed him. I knew Ian would solve any problem. I had only to ask. If I asked, he would have bought me a new car. Hell, he probably would have bought us a new house. But I wouldn't let him. I couldn't. I didn't want to take his money. It felt so wrong to accept expensive gifts from him, way too reminiscent of a mistress, but without the all the obligations. What I really wanted from Ian was what he was giving me right now: his love and support. I wanted him to hold me and tell me it would be okay. I wanted him to do that because, I believed, that if he said it, it would be true. Ian would _make_ it true. He would do that for me.

"Can I see Jenna?" I asked. Ian looked to the intern who just shrugged. I don't think he was really supposed to let us in yet, but he wasn't up to opposing Ian. If I hadn't been so terrified about Jenna, it would have been funny. To me, Ian wasn't scary at all, but he sure intimidated the hell out of everybody else.

Ian muscled his way out the door, past the protesting intern and down the hall. He didn't stop until he could set me down at Jenna's bedside.

"She looks so fragile," I murmured. I reached out to gently touch one finger to her hand. I was afraid to do more. All of the wires and hoses coming out of her reminded me of a sci-fi movie. "What's…what's wrong with her?"

Ian grabbed a clipboard from a plastic holder on the wall and scanned the chart attached. "Broken leg, couple of broken ribs…mild concussion…" he trailed off and I waited.

"Ian?"

"Becca," he hesitated.

"Just tell me, Ian," I begged. I needed to hear the worst and it would be better to do it quick. "Just rip off the band-aid."

"Becca," he sighed. "She's going to be okay. Most of her injuries are superficial…cuts and bruises. She's had a few stitches and a couple of breaks. She'll wake up when the meds wear off." He closed the distance to wrap his arms around my shoulders. I sighed and rested my head back on his chest.

"It's m-my f-fault," I choked out, sobbing out my guilt. "If I hadn't insisted on that s-stupid c-car…"

"No _a stor_, no" he murmured in my ear. "It's not your fault. You couldn't know. There was no way of knowing."

"You knew," I interrupted. "You knew and you tried to tell me b-but I w-wouldn't listen. I'm so stupid and stubborn!"

"No," he argued. I could feel his hold shift so he could turn me to face him. I collapsed into his arms, but he held me away so that he could look me in the face. "Stubborn, yes, but not stupid." I shook my head in protest. "Never stupid," he insisted. "_Becca_," he sighed, crushing me into his arms. "So young, so naïve, so fragile. What am I going to do with you?" He sighed again and kissed the top of my head. He was right, I had never felt so fragile, or so naïve. "Come on," he murmured.

"Where are we going?" I asked, sniffing.

"First, I am taking you back to your mother. No," he cut off before I could protest his leaving. "She needs you right now and you need her. I have an errand I need to take care of and then I will come back for you."

"What errand?" I asked in confusion.

"I'll tell you when I get back." I let out a breath in a huff. I was tempted to argue, but I knew it was hopeless. Ian was a master at information withholding.

Ian led me back through the corridors to the waiting room where my mother was still sitting in a little bit of a stupor. I felt Ian squeeze my hand gently before letting go and disappearing out the emergency room doors.

"Mom?" I broached softly. I touched her shoulder and she reached up to cover my hand with her own. She wiped her eyes before turning to smile a watery smile at me.

"Becca," she whispered. "Baby, are you okay?"

"Yeah Mom, I'm okay. Ian took good care of me."

"I knew he would." She was still crying softly. "They won't come out and tell us what's going on. Why won't they just tell us already?"

"Mom, Jenna's going to be okay. She has a broken leg and some ribs, but she's going to be fine. She's just sleeping off the pain meds."

"How do you know that?" She asked in shock. I smiled weakly and shrugged.

"Ian." Mom smiled.

"I knew I liked that boy."

I sank into a chair next to Mom to wait. Eventually, someone from the hospital did come out to repeat the information that Ian had already procured. Jenna was still sleeping, but it was easier now that we knew she would be okay. There was a television on in the corner and we stared at it without watching. When the news came on and they started doing a report on Jenna's accident, Mom asked the nurse to change the channel. Finally, about six, the nurse came out and told us that Jenna was awake and we could go in.

"You look like crap," Jenna mumbled when we walked in.

"You should talk, beauty queen," I countered. "What happened to you? You lose a fight with a ticked off gorilla?" Jenna chuckled softly, then groaned.

"Don't joke," she gasped. "Broken ribs. That's just mean." I smiled. It felt so good to have her back to semi-normal.

"You can get me back later," I promised.

"I'll remember that," she smiled weakly and then seemed to doze off again. Mom sat in the chair on the far side of the bed and seemed to be settling in for the duration.

"Mom?" I asked. "How late are you staying?"

"Until they kick me out. Why?"

"Ian is coming back later and I thought we could go get you some dinner and bring it back if you want."

"That's sweet of you, babe. Can Ian stay with you until I come home? I hate to think of you alone at home tonight. I wouldn't worry if Ian was there to look out for you." I grimaced. I was perfectly capable of "looking out" for myself. But she had a point. I _would_ feel a lot better with Ian around.

"I'm sure he'd be fine with that."

Jenna continued to doze on and off and Mom and I chatted quietly until Ian came in about an hour later. He slipped in so silently that I didn't know he was there until I felt his hand on my shoulder.

"Ian," I whispered (Jenna was sleeping again). "Would you mind if we went to get some dinner for Mom?"

"That sounds like a great idea," he whispered back. I could feel a weird tension in him.

"Did your errand go okay?" I asked in confusion. He grunted a noncommittal response.

"Shall we go?" He reached out a hand to take mine and pull me gently to my feet. Mom waved to acknowledge our leaving. I waved back, still not sure what was wrong.

"Ian, what's up?" I asked as we stepped out of the hospital doors into the darkening evening.

"I went by the crash site to have a look at your car." I stopped cold and Ian had to tug my hand to get me moving again.

"And?" I asked, not sure if I really wanted to know.

"And, Jenna's crash was due to break failure."

"So it was my fault," I whispered huskily.

"Not even close," he countered as he handed me into the car and shut the door. He rounded the car and slid in next to me. "The brake lines had been cut." My eyes widened in shock and my mouth dropped open. "Becca, someone tried to kill you."


End file.
